Gladiator
by Rydinghood
Summary: Diana has had a rough life, but has managed to fight through it; until now. Thrust into the Hunger Games, Diana must use her fighting skills to return home to her little brother, Ian. But can she survive? Torn between the living brother who needs her, and the dead brother who haunts her, Diana is thrust into the biggest fight of her life, and the stakes couldn't be higher.
1. Chapter 1: The Ring

This was the part I hated the most. The waiting. Knowing that just beyond the wooden walls of this little closet-like 'Bullpen' was an arena surrounded by bleachers full of people waiting to see if I can beat the pulp out of someone else. Knowing they don't really care, I'm just a betting slip to them.

"You ready?" Miko asks from behind the hall door. He's the unofficial water boy, being the newest. I had to do my share of that my first few months as well.

"Course." I snort, hiding my nerves. It's pointless; Miko knows I hate waiting in this dark, cramped closet.

"Just 1 more minute, kay?" He says.

One more minute. One more minute before the cuts that have begun to heal get reopened. One more minute before my skin gains new sickly hues from fresh bruises. One. More. Minute.

I hate the wait. The other fighters use this time to concentrate, psyche themselves up for a fight. I usually snap into focus the minute someone is charging at me, not before. I try to peek out through the crack in the door leading to the arena, my only source of light. The bleachers seem to ripple as everyone moves. Hersh said it was a full house, I underestimated what that meant. The bleachers are packed, and there are people standing behind them as well. If Hersh is filled to standing room only, that means there has to be a couple thousand people out there.

Gladiator fighting is popular here in district 10. There're rodeos for the non-gamblers, mainly little kids, and horse racing for the weaker stomached, but gladiator fighting is also popular. I never understood why. It's not like ranchers are even that well off. Maybe it's a thrill-seeker thing. _If you want to seek thrilling fights, you need to be in them to have the best seat._ I think with some scorn.

I hear thumps up above me, then a pause. The Gatekeeper, most likely the ticket boy, Justin, is poised above me. I can picture him, poised to pull up the wooden gate, waiting for the horn to signal him. I hear a tap above me, then a pause, and then a second tap. I wait for a third, but it doesn't come. _Double tap. Knock em' out, hard and quick._

I don't have time to feel bad for whoever I'm fighting that's about to get creamed before the horn sounds. The gate goes up and I charge into the arena, my whole body on high alert. A roar of sound fills my ears as the crowd cheers and jeers. The light is hard on my eyes, despite Hersh keeping it dim for us fighters. Across the arena, I see a bolt of black lightning.

Angus, the behemoth. The crowd favorite on any given night.

I hit the blood stained, sawdust covered floor, kicking out at his shins. Angus tries to slow down his charge, but his momentum carries him right into me. He hit's the floor hard, all 200lbs of him. I leap to my feet, quick as a cat, but he scrambles up just as fast.

Deadlock. We circle each other looking for an opening. Over Angus's shoulder, I can see Hersh glancing at his watch, then at me. _Hurry up. _That gaze says.

Angus takes advantage of my momentary distraction, charging into my midriff. Pain explodes under my ribs and my breath comes out in a huff, but I manage to keep my feet. Quick as a viper, I slam down my left fist on the base of his skull, followed quickly by my right. Angus staggers to his hands and knees, frozen in shock. Backing up, I have a perfect view of his ebony features as his chocolate eyes roll back. I can see beads of sweat on his brow. I can see the tension leave his muscles as he loses consciousness and collapses. _Can you see that from up in those bleachers?_ I think, scornfully.

Somewhere above me, I hear a whistle blow, and I know I've won. I should be happy, relieved even, but I feel empty, cheated; the win was preordained. Angus's gatekeeper must have given him the triple tap of defeat because I've seen Angus out for blood before, and he would have smashed me in the face with his fists if he'd meant real harm.

Hersh told me when I first started that helping your opponent looks weak, so I leave the arena through the gate I entered. I learned on my own not to wave at the crowd. At least some of them will have lost money. Hersh rigs his fights so that usually, most of them have lost money. The last time I tried to wave, I was dodging beer bottles and cut my foot on broken glass. Even now, I can see an abundance of middle fingers and hear some not so complementary shouts.

Ducking into the Bullpen, I slip wordlessly into the hallway behind. I want to look over my shoulder to see if Angus is alright, but I don't. My bare feet pad softly down the hall to the locker room.

"Good fight out there!" Miko says, handing me a cup of water as I enter.

"There's no such thing." I growl. I try sitting down on a bench but my midriff is too sore. I settle for leaning against the wall.

"What do you mean? Those were awesome moves!" Miko continues.

"Fighting is bad. I don't care what the reasons for it are, hurting people on purpose is just plain wrong." I say before gulping down the water.

Miko's eyes grow wide but he doesn't get a chance to answer before Justin and Austin enter, supporting Angus between them. He's on his feet, but barely. They carry him to a empty cot and lay him down gently. Miko follows with the water, fishing out the painkillers from his pocket. I peek at Angus out of the corner of my eye, feigning indifference. Angus hoists himself up on one elbow, winces, and takes the water from Miko. I'm glad he takes the water, because he refuses the proffered painkillers.

"Come on Angus, your head's killing you! Just swallow your pride and take the damn painkillers!" Justin says.

"Yeah, that was a hard knock on the head." Austin confirms.

"I said I don't want no drugs!" Angus drawls. His voice is really deep and has a slow, musical quality to it. I remember a few of the black ranchers having similar voices, but Angus's is unique. I once asked Angus about it, but he got all offended and said he talks perfectly normal, which isn't true.

"For heaven's sake! They're Advil pills, not morphling shots!" Miko growls with exasperation. _Wrong thing to do._ I think, _He'll just resist more if you get mad._

True to form, Angus just glares and drinks the rest of the water, before laying down again. I decide to intervene.

"Hey Miko, can I have some ice and pills?" I ask.

"Sure, at least you can admit you need them. Getting rammed in the stomach can't be fun, huh?" Miko says, fetching an icepack from the fridge in the corner and handing it to me.

He gives me the icepack and two oblong, white pills before trotting after Justin and Austin to the arena to watch the next fight. If I remember correctly, the next fight is supposed to be Andrew versus Hutch. They're both in their early twenties and well matched in both skill and strength, so this fight should last a lot longer.

I push myself off the wall and walk stiffly over to Angus's cot, the pills curled safely in my fist. "You know no one thinks you're weak." I say, when Angus looks up at me.

"I know that. Austin told me to let you win." Angus says.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." I reply. Clenching my teeth, I sit on the edge of the cot. Pain spreads out in a wave of heat from my bruised stomach, and I gasp slightly, tears threatening to appear.

"I don't want my judgment to be clouded." Angus says. This is understandable, considering his dad had been a morphling addict when he was younger, had died from an overdose, leaving Angus on his own to raise his younger siblings at 18 years old.

"You know these don't affect your judgment, but it will be hard to think straight if your head is pounding." I say. Angus is quiet, considering my words. "You don't have any more fights for another hour, just take them."

"I don't want to be like my dad."

"You aren't your dad, and taking two pills when you really need them, doesn't make you an addict." I say. Angus searches my eyes, apparently he thinks I'm sincere because he takes the pills from my hand and swallows them slowly, one at a time.

"You want to ice your head? I can always get another." I offer.

"No, you've done plenty for me…Nurse Diana." Angus adds. I laugh and punch his shoulder lightly, before getting up. My stomach twinges with pain when I sit down on a bench, but I press the icepack to it and before long, it's numb.

I lay there for a long time before slowly getting up to shower off. In the shower stall, I delicately peel off the shorts and sports bra that constitutes my 'fighting costume'. It's all black except for my last name in white lettering on the back. I was hesitant when Hersh first informed me I'd be fighting in basically a bikini, but now I realize that it allows for more movement, and a chance to show off my well defined muscles.

I turn on the water and let the warm water sooth my aching muscles. I always take a shower here since we can't afford a water heater at home. I spend so long that my fingers and toes become pruny. I towel off and change into my street clothes. My cotton tanktop and jeans are far more comfortable than my fighting outfit. I slip on my leather boots and walk out into the main area just as Angus walks back in sporting a swollen lip and a black eye.

"I'm glad you made me take those painkillers, this eye is gonna hurt." Angus mutters, grabbing an icepack.

"I must have heard you wrong, you couldn't possibly be thanking _me_." I quip, smirking.

"Yeah, you musta hit me pretty hard; addled my brains." Angus says, sitting down. Up close, I can see his forehead and back are slick with sweat. Only then do I realize we're alone.

"Where's Miko and the others?" I ask.

"Infirmary. Hersh decided to switch out Grant for Bosley." Angus grunts. _That explains the eye._ I think, shaking my head. Bosley is the only other fighter that can match Angus in sheer muscle mass, but he isn't that bright. He must have gotten a few lucky shots, but Angus still must have gotten the upper hand.

"Single tap?" I ask. Single tap means may the best win. Angus just nods. No surprise really, if the profits are equal either way, Hersh likes to give the audience an impressive fight. Sometimes I think Hersh should have been born a Gamemaker, not that he'd let any of us die on purpose.

Angus and I sit in silence until the others arrive. Even Bosley makes it, though his left ankle is bound and he has to be supported by Miko. Everyone shuffles in like they do at the end of a long night of fighting, shoulders slumped, heads bowed, nursing new injuries and smarting from old ones. Last to arrive are Hersh and Justin, carrying the strong box full of the nights profits.

"Great job, everyone! That was some tough fighting out there tonight. Bosley, I want you to keep off that foot as much as you can, just because we don't fight during the Hunger Games doesn't mean you should go walking around, reinjuring it." Hersh says.

"I'll get a pass from the peacekeeper to stay home tomorrow and watch the Reaping on T.V." He says.

"Good, now I'll see you all in a few weeks." Hersh says. He then motions for Justin to hand out our cuts for the night. Justin gives me a wink as he hands me my envelope. It feels really heavy and I can't help but smile, extra cash before the Hunger Games will help, especially since I splurged on new reaping outfits for me and Ian this year. It's his first Hunger Games, and my old Reaping outfit was far too tight.

I say my goodbyes and wish Justin, Austin and Miko luck for tomorrow. Everyone else is old enough to be safe, but we are still in danger of being reaped. Justin is 17 and his brother, Austin, is 15, but Miko is only 14 and I'd hate to see him, or any of them, reaped.

I pull on my leather jacket and slip out the back door before everyone else. I pull up my collar against the chilly wind blowing even though it's still summer. The air feels charged, and I look up at the dark clouds that are already beginning to cover the moon. There'll be a storm tonight, I'd bet my hide on that.

Walking quickly along the road, I take advantage of the diminishing moonlight to open my envelope. $1500, more than enough to get us through the month. I know Hersh threw in an extra $500 to help cover the time off. Hersh doesn't run the arena during the Hunger Games simply because everyone gets more than their fill of gory fighting on T.V. and doesn't bother to come.

Tonight's paycheck is large, even for me. Hersh gives 30% of profit from each fight to the fighters involved. I was only slated for one fight tonight, so I'm surprised I got $1000 for it. I try to think of what that means for Hersh if $1000 constitutes half of 30%. In school I might have been able to reason it out, but tonight I'm too tired and sore to bother. I know it's a lot though, whatever the number.

Tucking the money into my coat pocket, I shuffle along, my boots crunching on the gravel path. All of the paths outside of the city are gravel. Apparently the Capitol thought that only the city roads mattered, because they didn't bother to pave any of the country roads, except the main one that leads to town.

I veer off the road and take a short cut across a field. During the day, the farmer that owns the field lets cattle roam the pastures, but they're always in for the night by the time I cut through to get home.

Three fields, and half a dozen fences later, I finally reach the scraggly, bush strewn field that surrounds the edge of town. A few hours ago, the buildings may have had lights shining from the windows, but by now, everyone in their right mind is asleep, resting for tomorrow.

I pass the rodeo grounds and approach a small, rundown house on the very edges of town. I note that the weeds are starting to run wild again, and will need to be removed soon so they don't choke out the front path. The house looks tired and sad, even in the dark. The shed that passes for a garage, leans sharply to one side, it's door rusted 3/4ths of the way open. Inside sits a rusted out car on blocks because we can't afford to get it serviced, and can't drive it anywhere even if we did. The house itself is clapboard and listing slightly, it's once-cheery red paint faded to a dull pink. I know the windows are grimy, even if I can't see them.

Despite all this, I know that what's inside is even uglier.

The first fat raindrops land as I step on to the creaky, old, wood porch. Taking the key out from its hiding place, I insert it into the lock, jiggling it a little until I hear a click. The door swings inward with a loud squeak and I wince, hoping the noise doesn't wake up my mom.

Inside the dimly lit living room, I tiptoe past the sleeping form of my mom. In one hand she has a large bottle loosely grasped and only a quarter full of some clear liquid. I don't have to look closer to know what it is. Murphy is the only one who makes and sells liquor in District 10, a homemade brew called moonshine, and my mom reeks of it.

In my bedroom, I just have time to strip down to my underwear and fall into bed with a moan, before I'm dead asleep.

Page | 6 of 6


	2. Chapter 2: Ian

I wake to the sound of bacon sizzling, the delicious smell filling the house.

I crack open one eye and see that the sun is high above the horizon. Groaning, I try to cover my head with my blanket and go back to sleep. I would have too if my stomach hadn't twinged and woke me up completely. I wince and slowly pull the blanket off, revealing the big greenish purple bruise splashed across my midriff. It's ugly, but the pain should go away in a few days.

Unfortunately, Ian picks that exact moment to walk in with a plate of bacon and a glass of apple juice. His eyes flicker to my stomach and frowns. He doesn't say anything, just puts the bacon and juice on the bedside table and walks into the bathroom to get some salve. I know he hates that I fight, but he understands that I have to; Hersh pays too well to complain.

He emerges with a tube of the cream that's supposed to help with sore muscles. Angus told me about it and now I use it on bruises as well. It doesn't actually heal the bruise, but it numbs the pain.

"Thanks," I grunt, taking the cream from him.

"It's gonna suck big time standing in those heels you bought." Ian notes.

"Then I'll wear my boots, they go better with the dress anyway." I reply, gently rubbing the cream into my stomach. I sigh as it starts working.

"Rough night?''Ian asks, concerned.

"Not bad, just one fight, Double tap, Angus just caught me unaware." I reply. Ian nods, then shakes his head.

"You shouldn't have to fight." He sighs.

I suppress the urge to groan, we've had this exact conversation a million times. Instead of answering, I take a big bite of bacon, chewing slowly. It's crispy and cooked to perfection. "How did you ever learn to cook so good?" I ask, relishing the food.

"Certainly not from you!" Ian chuckles.

"Obviously." I say. I think back to my first pitiful attempts at cooking. I had been 12 and Ian had only been 8, but he still had more natural skill than me. That had been when mom started drinking; shortly after dad died.

"I guess I'm just that good." He says. He flinches as a clatter and a string of swear words sound from the kitchen. Mom must be up.

"Damn it, the momster's arisen from the dead." Ian mutters. He sounds more tired than upset. It's the same old story, every morning. Mother drinks herself to sleep, then wakes up madder than a tracker jacker.

I finish the bacon while Ian takes a shower. I slip into the shower after him. The water is freezing but it helps me move fast because I saw the clock in the hall, and the Reaping's in less than an hour. When I return to the bedroom, Ian has laid out my new dress and is trying to tie his new tie in the mirror.

I change into my clothes quickly. Ian averts his eyes while I change, not that I care, we've shared a bedroom our entire lives so I'm used to changing in front of him. The dress fits like a second skin, and despite being tight, my stomach doesn't hurt too bad.

Ian's still having trouble with his tie. "Here, let me." I say. He turns to me and I crouch down to tie it for him, my dress riding up dangerously.

Ian wrinkles his nose as he looks me over. "I still think you look like a cheap stripper in that dress." He says.

"I know, but it was the only halfway stylish thing I could afford." I say. I don't tell him that's why I bought the dress, in case I ever lose my current job. If he hates my job now, he'd never approve of me being a call girl.

"But it shows so much skin! I know it's hot out, but still…" Ian continues.

"Well I bought it so I have to wear it, it's not like any stores are open now." I say, standing and pulling down my skirt. The rough leather feels as tough as my boots. If I'm totally honest with myself, this dress makes me feel tough, dangerous, like I could take on the world.

I run a hand through my dark hair. I had it cut short, like a boy, so it wouldn't get in the way when I fought. The barber had called it a pixie cut, whatever a pixie is. Mom had nearly strangled me when she found out, her face went purple with rage and she screamed herself hoarse. That had been one of our worse fights. In the end, there was nothing mom could do, I pulled the "at least I'm still alive" card, and that shut her up real quick.

"Where the hell do you think you're going dressed like that?" Mom shrieks as I slip into my black leather boots.

"The Reaping's in twenty minutes!" I shout. I take a moment to admire the fact that my boots and dress appear to be made out of identical leather, as if they had been cut from the same hide.

"You're not leaving this house in that dress!" she screeches. She starts to lunge toward me from the kitchen doorway where she had been standing.

"Yes I am and you can't stop me!" I yell, pushing her onto the couch. She's so hung over that she collapses onto the cushions with no effort on my part.

"I own this house! You can't boss me around!" she cries.

"Or what? You'll kick me out? I pay all the bills! I file the taxes! I'm the one who has a job! Go ahead and try to kick me out, but who's gonna pay for your booze when you do?" I scream. Mom doesn't respond, though I can tell she's fuming. She knows I'm right, and there's nothing she can say.

I turn on my heel and stalk out the door without glancing back. Ian's waiting for me at the end of the path, staring down at his new shoes. I know he must have heard us, and I feel terrible that he has to live with us. He's a good kid, he deserves to have a mom that isn't a drunk and has a job and takes care of him, and he deserves to have family that gets along and a sister who doesn't have to get hurt all the time. He doesn't deserve to worry about me or to try and avoid mom when she's around.

"I'd apologize, but what's the use?" I say, giving him a tired smile.

"Maybe you should just do it." Ian says.

"huh?" I ask. For a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about.

"You know. Leave, instead of just threatening it. Me and you, alone and safe." He clarifies.

"I'm not old enough to have my own house." I reply.

"You're sixteen now, you have to be old enough!" Ian whines.

"Maybe I can rent an apartment, but I can't own land. Besides, I'd have to be eighteen to have legal custody over you." I say.

"Why? You already take care of me!" Ian asks.

"It's the law." I say.

"Screw the law! Screw the Capitol!" He shouts.

"Ian! Sssh! Someone might hear you!" I say, glancing up at the houses we're passing, but nothing stirs. They get closer and closer together the closer you get to town. Pretty soon the houses give way to apartment complexes. The business district with all the factories and packaging plants are on the other side of town.

We pass the road I normally take to get to one of the shopping areas, the path that Ian takes to get to work at the packaging plant. I shiver as we pass the turn. The only time I walk this way, the only time I go to the main square, is for Reaping day. I try to avoid it otherwise. It holds nothing but bad memories for me.

The square is surrounded by The Justice building, a law firm, and a few business offices. The hospital is in that area as well. All in all, not a very cheery place unless you work there, since everyone who works there has a fair amount of money and power.

Despite the heat of the day, I start to shiver, goose bumps running up my arms as we pass the hospital. The last time I was there was when dad got gored by a bull, nearly four years ago. I remember he had an open stomach wound. He was conscious when we arrived, but so badly in shock he might as well not have been. I remember saying our goodbyes because the doctor told us that he probably wouldn't survive surgery; the doctor was right.

Ian takes my calloused hand in his and gives it a tight squeeze. I can see he's thinking the same things I am. I return the squeeze as we walk into the already crowded square. We check in quickly and race to our sections as the ceremony starts.

I can see Mayoress Picket sitting next to Verdandi Ganash, District 9's escort. Verdandi has always scared me. The woman we had before, had been very odd and laughable, but Verdandi started when I was twelve, and he scared me almost as bad as the clips of President Snow. He has contacts that make his green eyes glow and green glowing tattoos of arcane symbols all over his body, including his shaved and waxed head. He was wearing all black leather with silver studs the first year I met him, which added to the fear. This year he's wearing a black suit with green borders and patterns. His boots are the same though, black leather with silver spikes, the ones that used to be at eye level when I stood in front as a twelve year old.

Mayoress Picket seems almost relieved to step away from Verdandi to the podium. She starts by giving her boring speech that she has to give every year. As if making us wait to hear the verdict is part of the torture of Reaping day. I used to spend this time praying for everyone I knew to not be chosen, but I found out two years ago that praying does nothing for me or them.

Mayoress Picket goes on to congratulate our two previous winners, Gorath Shade and Belinda Johannesburg. Belinda is getting on in her years, having won one of the first Hunger Games mostly by wits and luck, yet she seems nice enough, sane enough. Gorath is a whole different flock of sheep though, he won through pure brutality. I know that it was necessary, but he got a very bad reception at home because of it. It's public knowledge that he goes out 'camping' for weeks on end with no supplies in the backcountry of District 10. The most circulated rumor involves a farmer finding a sacrificed sheep and seeing him running away, painted in blood, wearing nothing but his birthday suit. Personally, I think he's done a better job of coping with the effects of the Hunger Games and mentoring a lot better than most of the winners.

Memories of Jonathon's games threaten to start pouring in, despite my best effort to dam them up. Luckily, I'm distracted at that moment my Verdandi, who has finally stood up to his very impressive height, and stepped forward. "Welcome to the 65th reaping!" He says. His voice is soft and velvety, as if there is some veiled meaning to his words. His lips curl into a wild grin that sends chills down my back. It's a predatory grin, something I would expect from a coyote, not a human, especially not a soft Capitolite.

Suddenly I realize what's so scary about him. He looks like this psychotic clown I saw in a horror film on T.V. once. I suddenly realize that while the high pitched accent should be funny, and the grin should be misplaced, they make him seem psycho. _No, not psycho, Sadistic_. I correct myself. I realize with a cold certainty that Verdandi understands how twisted the games are, _and that he enjoys that_.

"As is customary, ladies first." Verdandi says, clasping his hands together and rubbing them in anticipation. _Sadistic bastard!_ I think with disgust. But that's all I have time to think before he reaches deep within the reaping bowl and pulls out a little white slip. He walks back to the podium and reads out the name on the slip. You guessed it; mine.

I shiver as I hear him say "Diana Hex" but not for the reason people would think. I shivered because I hated the way his slick voice sounded as he mangled my beautiful name with his horrid accent. My father had picked that name 'because you're a fighter' he'd told me, and now some sadistic, Capitol bastard was ruining the sound of it.

"Diana Hex?" Verdandi repeats.

"I heard you the first time!" I shout, pissed. Some people laugh at that. Verdandi frowns a bit, but I don't care, I just want him to stop saying my name.

The isle down the middle seems much different now, heading toward the stage. Or maybe it's just because all the girls are giving me half-relieved looks of sympathy. I want to scowl at them, but I'm in shock. _Is this what Jonathon felt?_ I wonder. I know I feel like the world can't stop beating this horse till it's dead and buried. _"When the shit rolls, it just keeps on coming." Jonathon muttered._ Thanks, memory.

"Glad you could join us. Let's give a round of applause to Miss Hex!" Verdandi says, as I climb up on stage. I scowl, as do a few other people, but no one claps. "And now on to the gentlemen!"

As Verdandi walks over to the boys reaping bowl, I do something I haven't done since Jonathon, I prayed for Ian, Miko, Austin and Justin. This time it worked. "Leo Capalducci" Verdandi called. A gasp comes from more than a few people so this Leo kid must be popular.

"Leo Capalducci, if you don't mind me repeating myself?" Verdandi calls out. I know that will have earned a few chuckles in the Capitol, but it just seems cruel to me.

"Leo Capalducci!" Verdandi repeats. In the distance, I can see the peacekeepers checking the attendance, trying to find Leo, but there's no need. A thin figure totters out of the 14 year old section, pushed by supporting hands. Leo has his head down, but I can tell that the boy is in shock. By the time he reaches the stage, big fat tears are rolling down his cheeks. His long, dusty brown mop of hair falls into his face, shielding his features from view.

"Finally! Let's hear it for Leo!" Verdandi says, but his voice seems to have taken a condescending tone. Again, no one claps, but I see a smattering of middle fingers and even more people with their left fists on their right shoulders in a traditional District 10 salute.

Mayoress Picket steps forth then and reads the Treaty of Treason like she's supposed to, and tells us to shake hands. Leo extends his right hand weakly, not meeting my gaze. I take his hand gently and give it a light squeeze before letting go. His hands are clammy, and he had the grip of a noodle. _Good luck kid_. I think, _you're gonna need it_.

**I've seen so many stories with silly escorts like Effie that I thought I'd focus on the more sadistic side of Capitolites. For the record, because District 10 is ranching, they also make all of the Capitol's leather imports, so leather is the cheapest material in District 10.**


	3. Chapter 3: Goodbyes

**Okay, so these first three chapters are like a preview. I'm usually busy so I'll try to update by midnight on Sunday. I might be able to update before then, but I highly doubt I'll have time.**

I'm standing in a fancy room, leaning against the black leather sofa because my stomach has started to hurt again and if I sit down, I may never hoist myself up again. The doors have only been shut for a second when they burst open again, and Ian comes hurtling in.

His dress shirt has come untucked and his tie is loose but he's still the best sight I could imagine right now. He barrels into me and hugs me hard, as if he's afraid to let go. I give a little grunt that I'm not sure is from surprise or because he hit my bruise.

Even though my stomach hurts, I hug him as tightly as I can. I can feel his tears on my shoulder and I have to force myself not to start bawling. I shove my face into his messy mop of hair and breathe deeply, taking in the musty animal smell. His shoulders are strong, but thin. I pull back and memorize his face desperately, because I know I'll have to let go eventually but I don't want to ever forget him. I admire his tan skin, the same shade as mine, smooth and not yet whethered by the sun. I memorize the button nose with its little wrinkles that show he's upset. His chin, still soft, but with the promise of being angular just like dads. His brown eyes, the exact shade of dark chocolate, his favorite treat that he'd get once a year for his birthday. How his hair falls into his eyes because it needs to be trimmed, yet he insists on keeping it long. Every little perfect feature on his angelic face, carved into my memory like a solemn statue. The only thing out of place, are the tears replacing the usual twinkle in his eyes.

"Why you? Wasn't Jonathon enough? Why can't the Capitol have a rule of no more than one person per family?" Ian whined. He sounds so lost, so…young. _He is young._ I think. _He's only twelve_. Ian acts so mature, that it's easy for me to forget just how young he is. How much he's already had to face, and will have to face again. It makes me want to cry, just thinking about leaving him with the momster.

"Listen to me Ian," I say, cupping his chin in my hand, "I'm sorry this had to happen, but I need you to be brave, okay?"

"Okay." Ian sniffles.

"I want you to get a job from Hersh." I say. Ian tries to protest but I press on, "He's the only one who will pay you more than minimum wage. I know you don't like how he works, but $7 an hour, working part time in a grimy factory won't get you anywhere."

"But, I don't want to, you know, _get hurt_." Ian whispers. I could kiss him for not mentioning gladiator fighting in front of the cameras.

"He knows that, he'd probably make you a ticket boy or a concessions boy. I know you don't like watching, but you have to." I whisper vehemently.

"Alright, because I love you, I will." Ian mutters, hugging me again.

"I love you too." I whisper into his ear.

Nothing has ever hurt so much or been so hard as when the peacekeeper came in to escort Ian away. I had to force myself to let go, giving Ian a quick peck on the forehead. I watch him leave, the peacekeeper guiding him out, and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

The next people to enter are Hersh, Angus, Justin, Austin, and Miko. None of the others show up, not that we're all that close.

Miko's bawling and both Justin and Austin have tears in their eyes. Miko's the only one that hugs me, and he let's go as soon as he realizes what he's done. I've never been super affectionate with any of them, even though they're my only friends.

Miko stiffens as I embrace him, but hugs me back, tentatively. "I'm gonna miss you." I say.

I pull away and address all of them, "All of you. You're my only friends, but you're more than that, you're family." I say.

I walk over and give Justin and Austin, each a hug. They also return it, crying onto my shoulder. I give Hersh a handshake because I can't imagine hugging him, but when I get to Angus, I pause, unsure of whether to hug him or not. Fortunately, Angus makes the decision for me and pulls me into a gentle hug.

When he pulls back, I place a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looks surprised, but I don't care. "Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

"What do you need?" Angus asks. I smile with relief, I should have known he'd be willing to help me, for Jonathon's sake if not my own.

"It's Ian. Could you take him in? I don't want to leave him with mom. You understand, right?" I ask. I can see the indecision in his eyes, and I try to plead with mine. I'm not sure if my look makes a difference, but he finally nods.

"Thank you!" I sigh, "You have no idea what a relief that is for me."

"Hrrmph." Hersh utters, clearing his throat.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot, would you be willing to give Ian a job? I'm sure he'll want to help support Angus." I ask sweetly.

"Oh…er…hrrmph…ah…sure." Hersh sputters. "Mean, as long as you do something for us." He continues.

"What can I do?" I ask, puzzled.

"What you do best...fight!" Miko interrupts.

"Yeah, you got what it takes to win, we know you do. It's all fine and well if we help Ian, but it'll be a hundred times better if you can return and help him yourself!" Justin says.

"And to help you remember what to fight for, we brought you something." Austin says. He pulls a worn piece of black leather from his pocket. It's a leather cuff, similar to the ones some of the fighters used, similar to the one's Jonathon used.

"It's the match to the one Jonathon wore when he fought. He gave it to me for good luck two years ago on Reaping day. He'd want you to have it." Austin says, buckling it tightly around my right forearm, the same side that Jonathon wore his on for his games. I my resolve not to cry fails, and a single tear leaks out. I rub it away quickly, but not before everyone sees. I feel ashamed to let them see me cry.

Just then the Peacekeeper enters, and tells them to leave. They shuffle out one by one, with Miko in the rear. Each one waves goodbye, and just before the door closes, I hear Miko shout, "Double tap!" I smile at that, but then I have to struggle not to burst out sobbing.

I'm taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm down, when the last person I ever expected came barreling through the doors. Mom. Her eyes are blood shot and her teeth are bared in a snarl, she looks like she dipped her clothes in the mud before putting them on, and her hair is the same tangled knot she woke up with. It's not that what surprises me, it's that she looks like she's out for blood – my blood.

She starts pummeling me with her fists – or tries to anyway. My fighting instinct kicks in and I dodge her blows easily. She's screaming, but I can't make out the words. Suddenly all the fight leaves her, and she shuts up. _It's official, she's finally gone off the deep end._

"When I told you to leave, this isn't what I meant!" She sobbed. I just back up, putting the couch between us.

"What's gonna happen to us? What's gonna happen to _me?!_" she squeaks, her voice jumping a full octave.

"_You_ are gonna sober up and get a job, and _Ian_ is going with Angus." I snarl.

"Noooo! I can't lose all my children like this!" Mom howls. Her knees give out and she sinks to the floor in hysterical sobs. I round the couch and grab her roughly by the shoulders.

"Mom! Unless you can change, this is for the best! Ian shouldn't have to put up with you by himself! You only care about your next drink, you're violent, and you're unpredictable! Angus said he'd take care of Ian, which is more than can be said of you!" I shout, willing her to understand.

"But, but… how can he leave his own _mother?!_" she blubbers.

"His _mother?!_ His _MOTHER!?_ He hates you! No, worse! He _fears_ you! We've called you the momster since Jonathon died! Trust me, he want's to love his mother, but she disappeared four years ago!" I shout.

Suddenly, mom stops crying. I'm so shocked, I let go and back up, afraid of what she plans to do to me. But she doesn't move. Her glassy green eyes meet mine and she sighs.

"Your right." She croaks, "I need help. I do care about Ian, I care about you too, and if you both want him to go, if that's what's best, then leave." Mom rasps, as if it physically pains her to say this.

She just stays on the floor until the Peacekeeper returns. He actually has to carry her out. He gives me a questioning look, which I return with a glare. _Mind your own damn business!_ I think.

The only good thing about mom showing up like that, is that I no longer feel like crying. I'm pissed, and just a little smug. It must show on my face because Verdandi looks slightly surprised when he sees me. The look passes quickly, replaced by disappointment. _He hoped I'd be crying_. I think sourly. _At least Leo didn't disappoint you_.

Leo, happens to be waiting in the car that will take all three of us to the train station. I've been in a few cars, most of them rusty and old, the majority of which were trucks meant for heavy duty farm work. That was usually on my way back from the arena, if someone was headed in the same direction, I'd pick up a ride.

This care is different though. First of all it's shiny, and looks brand new; second, the engine purrs so softly I can hardly hear it. The ride is smooth as I would imagine flying, it doesn't even feel like we're moving. No rattling, hardly any bumps despite the poorly maintained road, and above all, no driver cursing the engine loudly to 'keep running you god damned bitch'.

In fact, it would have been very enjoyable had I not been sitting next to a crying 14 year old and a stone cold sadist. _I wonder if it felt this wonderful to Jonathon?_ But I know the answer, Jonathon would have been worried about the games, and the siblings he was leaving behind. Suddenly, I can't stop thinking of Ian. _What if mom backs out on her promise to let Angus take him?_ I worry, biting my lip.

"Worried about the games?" Verdandi crooned in a mocking voice. Next to me, I hear Leo choke out another sob.

"No, my little brother actually." I reply, stiffly. The smirk slides off Verdandi's face, and I can't help but smile. _Diana one, Creep zero._

The train station is full of reporters and cameras pointed at us. I give Leo's hand a squeeze before stepping out of the car. I walk as quickly as I can to the train, which wasn't nearly as quick as I'd like, but all that my bruise would allow for. I ignore the reporters, shouting questions at me and trying to hold out microphones. When I reached the train, I yanked the door open, and, because I could, I flipped off all of the reporters before stepping inside.

**Thanks to all who have read this far! I'd really like some feedback on Diana and the story over all! Be brutal, I won't give up writing and the critiques really do help!**


	4. Chapter 4: Gorath

The train walls muffle the noise from outside. Inside is peaceful, and full of beautiful furniture. Had I seen this when I was younger, I would have thought it was a dream. Unfortunately, the cynicism from my past four years of hell only allows one thought, _So this is what they do with all our money_.

I walk into the living room where a beautiful white suede furniture set, dominated the center. The couch and easy chairs were covered in white suede, as well as the lamp shades and curtains. The rug is royal purple and looks like fur. I slip one foot out of my boot to feel it with my toes and I let out a happy squeak. If it is fur, it's as soft as goose down, and as thick as velvet. As much as I've always resented District 1 careers, I have to admit, they know what they're doing.

Slipping my boot back on, I wait in the entryway for Leo. His back is turned as he opens the door since he's staring at the huge crowds of reporters. I can tell from the hard set of his shoulders, that he's terrified. I spring forward as quick as a cat and clamp my hands over his eyes, dragging him backwards, into the train. He gives out a startled cry and starts to flail.

His hands hit a button on the wall, and there's a hiss as the train door's air lock kicks in. I giggle and pull him around until he's facing the living room, my hands still firmly over his eyes. Outside I hear an uproar as the reporters, and no doubt, Verdandi, realize that I've just dragged my fellow tribute into the train with me and locked the door. I giggle again as I picture Verdandi standing on the platform, looking stupidly helpless at the locked train door.

"Picture the most beautiful dream house you can imagine." I say.

"Wha-what?" Leo stutters in terror and confusion.

"I said, picture the most beautiful dream house you can imagine." I repeat, stifling another giggle.

"I-it has h-huge w-wi-windows…"Leo begins, but I cut him off.

"Don't tell me, just imagine it." I say. I let him think for a minute, his tears lubricating my hands. "You picturing it?" I ask.

"Yeah." Leo says, with just a hint of a whimper.

"Does it look something like this?" I ask, removing my hands and revealing the living room. Leo gasps, his mouth hanging open, stupidly.

"Sorry for scaring you." I apologize, "But you should have seen your face!" I break down in giggles then. Leo tries to glare at me, but before long, the relief has him giggling too.

"You scared the shit out of me!" He says, punching my arm. The punch is supposed to be hard, but it doesn't hurt at all. _Poor kid._ I think again.

Just then, Peacekeepers burst through the opposite door, guns pointed at us. "On the floor! Now!" One of them barks. Leos eyes widen, but I manage to drop to the floor as bidden, despite the protest from my bruised midriff. "You okay kid?" the Peacekeeper asked Leo, keeping his gun trained on me.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Leo says.

"You sure? You worried us back there." The Peacekeeper asked.

"Yeah, it was just a joke." Leo said.

"Can I get up yet?" I growl.

"Um, sure, I guess." The Peacekeeper said. I stand up slowly, tugging at my skirt which has started to ride up again. I notice that the Peacekeeper still keeps his gun trained on me.

"What, was that about?" Verdandi yells, entering behind the Peacekeeper, Belinda and Gorath are right behind him.

"It, was just a misunderstanding." Leo says, nervously eyeing the gun, "Why's everyone so upset."

Verdandi's about to go apoplectic, I recognize the signs from being around mom so I cut in. "I think it's because you accidently hit some sort of button that locked the train door. They probably thought I was trying to start the games early." I say.

"That," Verdandi growls, "Is exactly what we thought!"

"They said it was a joke, but I don't see what's so funny." The Peacekeeper says, finally lowering his gun. Apparently he decided I wasn't an immediate threat.

"No; I was trying to play a joke on Leo, and it was funny until you burst in yelling and pointing that gun at us!" I say indignantly.

"Well, the point is, no one got hurt. Next time, try not to hit the door lock, okay?" Belinda says, coming forward. She places her cane on the Peacekeepers toe and leans her weight on it. He pulls his foot away cussing, nearly unbalancing Belinda. The Peacekeeper stalks out as Belinda regains her balance. I'm not positive, but I think she winks at me before saying, "Dinner will be in an hour, your rooms are in the car behind me if you'd like to freshen up." She says it like a suggestion but the look on her face says we don't have a choice in the matter.

I stalk past Verdandi, biting back the urge to stomp on his toes in passing, with Leo close on my heels. Verdandi follows us to our rooms, more like a stalker than an escort, making sure we find them. As soon as I enter my room I hear a click as the door locks behind me. _Jonathon, did they treat you like a prisoner as well?_ I wonder in frustration.

I throw myself onto the big royal purple comforter, which feels like thick velvet, and wince as I stretch my stomach again. _I should see if they have some of that cream_. I decide. I think of Ian and then Jonathon, and before I know it, I'm crying huge sobs. I haven't cried this hard since dad died. Big howling sobs that make my stomach hurt even worse.

Pretty soon, the sobs are reduced to sniffles, and the tears dry up. I can feel how puffy and red my eyes must be, but I don't care. I think of just lying on this bed all night, I really don't feel hungry; but I can't afford to skip a meal, not now when it really counts.

I hoist myself off the bed, by stomach reduced to an endlessly throbbing ache, and walk into the bathroom. Stripping down, I take a long, hot shower and let the water relax my sores. I find a honeysuckle and lavender shampoo that reminds me of the wildflowers we had back home. _You might never see those again_. I think, so I content myself with the smell of them in my short hair.

When I get out, giant dryers blow warm air on me until I'm completely dry. I give my hair a ruffle and put on my Reaping outfit again since it's still plenty clean. There's a full boudoir with hundreds of makeup products on it. I skip over the makeup and look in the cupboards, rummaging around for some numbing cream. Bending over hurts so I have to straighten up as soon as I give everything a quick glance. _Guess you'll just have to grin and bear it._

I take a quick peek at the clock next to my bed. I mutter a few choice cuss words as I note I only have a minute to run to the dining car. Sprinting out of my room, I almost run into Leo, who is also sprinting out of his room. He must have taken a shower as well because he's wearing a new dress shirt and black slacks.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"No, I'm sorry, I should have been more careful." I apologize.

"Door's unlocked." He notes, and I realize he's right.

"Yeah," I say, "Um, since we're both equally late, wanna walk together?"

"Of course, madam!" He says, bowing comically and offering an arm, "May I have this stroll dear lady?"

"If you insist, kind gentleman." I say, mimicking his formal tone. We're both laughing as I take his arm.

"You're kinda short for a 16 year old, unless I'm really tall for a 14 year old." He says.

"You're really observant, aren't you?" I say. Now that he mentions it, we're almost the same height. I've been short my entire life, but I never really paid much attention to it.

"Yeah, it's like my one strength." He says, blushing. I notice that he has the same kind of splotchy, all-over blush that Ian has. I haven't seen him blush in months though.

"Yeah? Well it's a good strength." I say.

"You really think so?" he says, looking up at me through thick, dark eyelashes. _Jonathon had eyelashes like those._

"Yeah, I do." I say.

"Well, maybe if we, you know, survive the bloodbath…" Leo murmurs, averting his eyes.

"Woah, hold up! You want _me_ for an ally?" I ask, surprised.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you're quick and smart, and I could feel how strong you are when you grabbed me; no one will be expecting that." He says. Now it's my turn to blush.

"Thanks. Hersh said the same thing, but I didn't want to believe it." I say. Hersh did say that, when I asked for a job and the only open position was as a fighter. I hadn't trusted in my skills then, but he had.

"Oh. Is Hersh your boyfriend?" Leo asks. I can tell he's straining to sound passive. _'he likes you'_ says a little voice in the back of my head. _So what? This is the Hunger Games! So what if he likes me? He'll probably die anyway!_ I argue with myself. The little voice wants to come back but I squash it like a horsefly and ignore it.

"No, my boss." I reply. Leo smiles and the relief in his eyes is just a little unsettling. My stomach does a little flip as I smile back, but I ignore it.

"So?" Leo asks, leaning up against the door to the dining car.

"So what?" I ask, confused.

"You never answered my question, do you want to be allies?" He asks.

I think it over. Maybe it's because he seems so helpless, or maybe because his mop of hair and soft facial features reminds me of Ian; Maybe it's because a very tiny part of me is thrilled by the thought of having a friend, but I nod. "agreed." I say.

"Allies?"

"Allies." I confirm, pushing open the door.

"Your late." Verdandi says, the minute we walk in. He gives me a suspicious glance as Leo walks in right behind me.

"Give them a break, they've just had the most shocking day of their lives, punctuality is the last thing on their minds. Am I right?" Belinda says. We both nod and take our seats. Leo sits right next to me, close enough to bump elbows. I don't mind though, because just then I'm distracted by the most delicious smelling food in the world which has been set in front of me by a pale server.

I don't know what to start with; it all looks so wonderful, so I start with everything. My portion could have given Jonathon a run for his money – and he'd eaten like a horse. I pile on rolls and cheeses and fruit, and three bowls of soup.

"You planning to eat all of that yourself Princess?" Gorath asks, raising an eyebrow. I take it as a challenge to eat wolf it down with as much dignity as I can.

I'm about to reach for seconds, to the astonishment of Gorath, when Belinda warns me there's more to come. I can hardly believe her. The table is already laden with enough for three meals and there's supposed to be more? But Belinda is right. Soon the servers are back, replacing everything with platters of tender roasted beef, pork chops, racks of ribs, turkey with garnish, and more baked vegetables and sides than I could ever imagine.

Both Leo and I stuff ourselves full. He gives me an incredulous look as I reach for fourths but says nothing. At home, we were all big eaters until dad died. We certainly haven't starved since then, Jonathon and I made sure of that, but it's against my nature to let the food go to waste.

Just as I'm finishing up my fourth plate, the servers return with desert, pies, cakes, pudding, and a few I've never even seen before. Despite my full stomach, I still manage a piece of cheesecake and a serving of something called Baked Alaska, earning Leo's respect and a comment about having hollow legs from Belinda.

Thankfully, none of the adults try to talk to us about the games. They talk about other mentors they can't wait to see, and speculate about new Capitol trends and how to incorporate that into winning over sponsors, but mostly they talk about inconsequential things. As soon as I've leaned back, full and satisfied, I bring up the games.

"So, what's first? Is there anything we have to discuss?" I ask, because I really have no idea what to ask.

"The Recap will be in ten minutes or so." Verdandi says.

"Yes, and until then, we have no idea what you're up against. We can't really make any plans until then." Belinda adds.

"Then what are we waiting for?" I ask, getting to my feet. I know I ate far too much really rich food, and my distended bruise is killing me. _With my luck, I'll have indigestion tonight and look horribly tired tomorrow._

"I like the way you think!" Gorath says. He gets up and grips my elbow with his rough hands, leading me out of the room and back into the living room.

"Let go of my arm!" I hiss, yanking out of his grip.

"I meant what I said." Gorath says, leaning against the door.

"What?" I ask, sitting down on the soft suede couch.

"I like the way you think. I like your attitude, and I like that you're a no-nonsense, rough-and-tumble gal hiding behind the face of a princess." Gorath explains, crossing his muscle bound arms over his jean vest.

"Um, thanks?" I say, not really understanding why he's complimenting me like this.

Gorath snorts with amusement. "What I mean is, I want to mentor you personally." He says.

"Okay, but isn't that your job anyway? To mentor me?" I ask, staring at him. _He really is a mystery_.

"I normally don't, I can't stand weak sniveling tributes. They don't stand a chance, so why should I bother with them? I only come along because it's mandatory for mentors." Gorath snorts.

"Mandatory?" I ask, puzzled.

"Yeah, it's a chance for Capitolites to moon over their favorite past victors; and for the government to keep a check on us. They don't tell you that little nugget about winning, do they?" Gorath replies. What he says makes sense, I guess I never thought about why all the mentors from the other districts go. Some of them have more than three, and the career districts have at least a dozen each, there's no need for them all to go but they do anyway. _Course, the Careers have so many sponsors it must take a dozen mentors to handle them all._ I think snidely.

"But you're gonna bother to help me, huh? You think I got a chance?" I ask, not quite believing it.

"Yeah, I think you do." Gorath says. Just then, Belinda, and Leo walk in, closely followed by Verdandi. I can see Gorath wants to say more to me, but not in front of them. _Maybe having a ruthless killer on my side is an advantage._ I think.

Leo plops down next to me. "What was that about?" Leo askes, giving me a questioning look. He can do that thing where you raise one eyebrow and lower the other. I find it funny, in a sad sort of way. Ian always wanted to know how to do that, Dad could do it but none of us kids can pull it off. I quickly shake my head to clear it of these thoughts.

"I don't know." I lie, "Maybe he's a pervert."

"Well, if he does that again, let me know and I'll kick his ass." Leo growls, but there's a twinkle in his eye as he says it. _You act so tough, just like Jonathon, just like Ian, just like me. But the arena is going to chew you up and spit you out just so it can trod on you._ I think sadly. He's such a sweet kid. Then it occurs to me that maybe that's his angle, that he might really be cold and ruthless, but I immediately dismiss the idea. All it takes is a single glance to know he's not a fighter. The way his shoulders slump forward and the merry twinkle in his eyes, his perpetual little smile that his face seems to be set in, all accented by the obvious fact that he's just half an inch away from breaking down into tears. Dad once said that looking into a person's eyes is like looking into their soul, I find that's not always accurate, but in Leo's case, it is.

"Thanks big guy, but I think I can handle him." I say.

I'm saved from having to say anything else because just at that moment, Verdandi flips on the T.V. and the recap begins. I tense up as the volunteers from Districts 1, 2, and 4, step forward. The boys are all over six feet and the girls have the ferocious look of piranhas and the lean build of a panther. They'll be my biggest competition so I make sure to take careful note of each and every one of them. At some point, I faintly registered that my hand is rhythmically stroking the suede of the couch as my nerves build.

The kids from Districts 3, 5, and 6, are all quaking and crying, and rather small and pathetic. I note that the tributes from District 5 seem to know each other, though they don't share a name. They must either be cousins or friends, either way, they'll band together. The girl from 6 is 18 and built like an Ox, but she bursts into tears and she has the same slouching posture as Leo. I know she has the potential to be a physical threat, but she doesn't appear to have the determination of a Victor.

District 7 is actually decently built. Both tributes were 12 but the boy had an 18 year old volunteer for him, though, surprisingly, not anyone related to him. Both look determined, and the 18 year old might actually have a chance, even if he's not as big as the Careers.

Districts 8 and 9 both pass without any noticeable tributes, but they're not tiny so I decide to keep my eye on them. And then it's our Reaping. The commentators laugh when I talk back to Verdandi, and they laugh even harder when Verdandi mocks it when he recalls-out to Leo. I glance at Leo out of the corner of my eye. His face is flaming in red splotches and his lower lip is quivering. I reach out my stroking hand and take his hot sweaty hand in my cold one and give him a comforting squeeze. He smiles and squeezes back.

Districts eleven pass by without another incident, both scrawny and underfed per usual. I do feel bad for them, especially District 12 because their only mentor is always intoxicated. The kids from District 11 looked like they might have some muscles from manual field labor, and I know they'll know every edible plant in the book, so I decide to keep my mind open to allying with one of them.

"Well, nothing too unusual. We can definitely work with that." Gorath mutters.

"Well, my old bones are tired and it's gonna be a big day tomorrow so I suggest we get some sleep." Belinda says.

"You coming?" Leo asks, rising to follow Belinda.

"In a little bit." I say, he gives me a look so I add, "My mind's too preoccupied to sleep, I just need some alone time."

"Well, okay. I guess I'll see you in the morning then." Leo says, walking out. Verdandi follows him out so it's just me and Gorath left.

"He likes you." Gorath comments.

"Yeah." I reply, crossing my arms.

"Do you like him?" Gorath asks.

I snort.

"I see." Gorath says, "But maybe you can use that to your advantage."

"I'm already allied with him if that's what you mean."

"Good girl, I knew you were smart."

"So what did you want to say earlier?" I ask, the curiosity finally overcoming me.

"I wanted to talk about strategy." Gorath says.

"What strategy?" I ask. _Tough girl? Or, god forbid, Sexy?_ I wonder.

"I want you to act like a sweet little angel around the other tributes." He says. I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off, "They don't know you're a fighter, they don't know you're strong, I'm not saying pull a Johanna Mason since I want you to do well in your private training, but the other tributes will overlook you or think you're too sweet and innocent to kill anybody as long as you're convincing."

"But won't that turn off potential allies?" I ask, biting my lower lip (yet another nervous habit that I haven't done in forever).

"Only the ruthless ones, which are the ones that will stab you in the back the first moment they can." Gorath says, rising from his chair. I take that as a cue to stand as well so he's not towering over me. "I'm telling you this now so that you can start the charade tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks, I think." I say.

"You gonna be a good little Princess?" Gorath asks, giving me a hard stare. I meet his eyes, steadily and agree. "Alright then, Belinda's right, go get some sleep, tomorrow's gonna be a busy day." He says.

He escorts me to my door. No matter how many rumours there are surrounding Gorath, having him on my side has to be an asset. After all, he knows what he's doing since he's still here to tell me about the Games. I whisper "Good night." and slip quietly into my room. Striping down to my underwear, I crawl into the big soft bed and pull the soft fluffy blanket over myself. I thought my mind was far too awake to go to sleep, but soon the shock and weariness over take me and I'm fast asleep in no time.

**I hope you like the story so far! Tell me what you think of Gorath and Leo! I'm open to story suggestions! In short: Review! Review! Review!**


	5. Chapter 5: Warrior Princess

**Longest chapter by far. Thank you to those who are reading this, and to that person who likes this story enough to follow it! So far This story is doing far better than my last one. If there are any timeline corrections/Hunger Games details I am forgetting, feel free to correct me. Enjoy!**

I wake up in a panic, not knowing where I am.

All around me are flowering cotton plants and long prairie grasses. Above me is a bright azure sky with a few fluffy white clouds. It would be peaceful if I could shake the feeling of impending danger.

I slowly sit up, before realizing my stomach no longer hurts. I'm wearing a cream tank top and tan cargo pants that look oddly familiar. Just then, I hear someone breathing, and a rustling noise to my right. I spring to my feet but the grasses are too tall for me to see over.

I start slipping through the grass toward the noise. _Please just be a gopher or something!_ I plead, though I know what it is. I don't want to know, I wish I didn't know, but I did.

I want to curl up in a ball with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears, but I can't. My body defies my wishes. The grass makes a rasping sound against my clothes as I pass but I can't stop. Soon, I'm running. Not away from the sound like I want to, but toward it.

I break into the clearing made of stomped on grass, not more than a hollow really, just as the knife goes in. Just like I always do. The knife is held by a girl from District 8. Her hair is dirty, her face is sweaty, and she looks mad with desperation. Her arms are thin and trembling, her hands covered in the blood she spilled.

The person who's been stabbed is lying with his face buried in his arms; stabbed in his sleep. I'm certain of who it is, but my mind isn't satisfied until I reach forward and flip him over onto his back. The shoulders are bronze and well defined, the hair is a deep rich brown, but the face looking up at me is what captures my full attention.

I forget about the District 8 girl, who is now sobbing uncontrollably, caring only for the boy I see. His eyes are closed but behind those thick lashes lie dark chocolate eyes that will twinkle no more. His face is calm, angelic even, something it never had a chance to be during his worry filled life.

I start bawling, backing away from the face of my dead brother, but the girl jumps on me. I think, _she's gonna kill me too!_ But she doesn't. She just wraps her skinny arms around me, begging for forgiveness. I want to pry her bloody hands off my shirt but her grip is like a vice.

I can't get away from either of them. I want to so badly but I can't move. My mind becomes as frozen as my body. The last thing I see before the panic overwhelms me is that angelic boy's face.

_Jonathon's _face.

I wake up sobbing. I miss Jonathon so badly. I wish I could have buried the memories along with the body. But I can't get away. My memories are the only stranglehold on that moment, but I'll never be able to shake free of them.

My heart feels heavy as it thumps against my chest. It isn't fair that my heart should still beat without his. I miss him. More than words can say. More than I'll ever be able to realize. More than Angus. More than Ian. Possibly more than life itself.

When I lost my dad, Jonathon became the man of the house at sixteen. Jonathon was a fighter, though never a gladiator. He worked for Hersh as a ticket boy, and dropped out of school to work in the slaughterhouses. He didn't want me to have to get a job but I wanted to help him, to relieve his stress. He always powered through every obstacle like an ox. I loved him for that. I loved that he was my solid rock with a sympathetic ear and a shoulder just perfect for crying on. He was my crutch when dad died. So when he died, I thought I would collapse without him.

I told him that when we said goodbye. He told me the same thing I told Ian: get a job from Hersh. He also told me to look after Ian. He didn't say 'until I get back' like he did for Ian, and I knew then he was a dead man walking. I asked him how I would survive without him, without my crutch.

I'll always carry his answer with me, _"You are the strongest girl I know. You can survive, you must survive, for Ian; and for me."_ I think he was going to say something else, but he never got a chance before the Peacekeeper dragged me away.

I stay curled up in bed until the sun comes up. Eventually the sobs turn to sniffles which slowly fade to silence. I've cried myself dry, or so it feels. My eyes sting from the salty tears and my nose is running.

About dawn, Verdandi bangs on the door and yells, "Up and at 'em!"

My pillow is still soaking, as is the fringe of my velvet comforter, which I also used the wipe my runny nose on. Over all, I'm relieved to get away from my mess, away from my memories and sadness.

I take a long hot shower to wash away the last dregs of my nightmare. This time I decide to use a peppermint shampoo. The smell reminds me of Christmas's as they were before dad died. How, no matter how early we snuck downstairs, the stockings would each hold a candy cane. Jonathon loved the candy canes. He loved anything peppermint. It was the one tradition I made sure to salvage after dad died. Jonathon cried when he saw the candy canes, though whether it was from joy or sorrow, I never knew.

Smelling of peppermint, I walked back into the bedroom with a fluffy white robe wrapped around me. The first thing I notice is that the chair where I put my reaping outfit is empty and it takes me a minute to realize that my token is gone too. I want to panic but then logic gets in the way. _They have to give it back before the Games, you're entitled, and it certainly isn't dangerous._ I think.

I instead walk over to the closet and pick out lemon-colored, strapless sundress and gold sandals. I'd much rather wear a darker color like black, or at least some jeans, but I know this is what Gorath asked for; cutesy and sweet. I fiddle with the floaty skirt material but I know I'm just going to have to suck it up and wear the damn dress. I just hope that A. Gorath knows what he's doing, and B. that he isn't just telling me to be a sweet little princess as a joke and that he isn't waiting to laugh at me as soon as I see him.

I flounce out of my room in a little half-skip, just for practice, but stop before I open the dining car door. I'm the last to arrive and I know I must look really different because Leo looks shocked. His eyes and mouth are both wide open and it reminds me of a goldfish. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gorath give me a tiny nod and a smirk. _Well I'm glad someone's happy about my dress choice_.

Leo regains his voice as I sit down, "Wow! That is a bright dress!" He comments.

"Well, as they say, 'when in Rome,'!" I quip, shrugging.

"Oh, right. The Capitol will love it." He replies.

"No they won't. I matched my sandals to my dress and they're flats, not heels." I say. Leo and Belinda snort at that, and Gorath's smirk grows even wider.

"Are you claiming that Capitolites dress like clowns?" Verdandi growls. Instead of answering, we all glance at his green tattoos and his maroon and gold suit before bursting out into giggles.

Verdandi glares at us and remains tight lipped for the rest of the meal. I finally help myself to a thick, sweet oatmeal-like substance with liberal amount of sugar and fruit in it. One bite and I'm in heaven. Belinda pours Leo and I some hot chocolate and after I'm finished with my oatmeal and Leo finishes his pancakes, we split a huge platter of croissants and sip our hot chocolate.

I'm reaching for my eighth roll when Belinda clears her throat. Both Leo and I take that as a cue to listen. But before Belinda can speak, the windows go black. _We must be passing through the tunnels_. I think. Leo looks panicked for a moment until he realizes what's happening.

"Hmph-hmm." Belinda utters, regaining our attention, "As you can see, we're nearing the Capitol. When we get there, you'll be escorted right into the Remake Center to prepare for the Tribute Parade tonight."

"What will that be like?" Leo inturupts.

"You'll see soon enough. It's not fun to be sure!" Belinda says.

"What will they do to us?" I ask.

My question is aimed at Gorath but it's Belinda who answers, "Clean you up so your stylists can dress you up. It shouldn't be too horrible. I know for a fact your stylists are the same as the past two years so the costumes should be sensible. They may even be good! But that's not really important. Just keep your chins up and don't complain about what they choose to do to you."

Just then, we enter the Capitol and I hear Leo gasp. I turn to look and see nothing but brightly colored buildings and magnificent architecture. While I may not like the government or the Capitolites, I can't help but admire the city. I stand and walk up to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the buildings. I have to smile when I see the people. They look ridiculous and if I didn't know better, I'd say they were dressed up for the parade too.

Leo and Gorath join me. "What exactly is the Remake Center like?" I ask Gorath, so quietly that no one else can hear me.

"No bull-shitting?" He asks, just as quietly.

"No bull-shitting, just the truth." I confirm.

"They'll scrub you until it hurts and pluck your hair like a chicken. Even if you're perfectly clean, they'll treat you like a disease needing to be cured. The prep team are just mindless drones so act nice, they'll spread the word all over the city."

Your stylist will be Fahran. He may show some of your skin, he may cover you up completely, but he knows what's in style and he'll at least avoid making you look repulsive. It's an asset many outer districts don't have." Gorath murmurs. His face remains passive, as if he were just commenting on the weather or the architecture.

"Thanks." I say.

"For what?" He asks.

"For being straight with me. I don't like how Belinda sugarcoats things, even if it sounds better. I'd rather be prepared for reality." I say.

"Smart girl." He says it like a compliment.

Hours later, I'm lying on a table in the Remake Center; my conversation with Gorath playing in my mind in endless circles. I'm acting as sweet as possible and not complaining per instructions, though I don't think I can stand one more 'procedure'. Gorath wasn't kidding when he said they'd scrub and pluck me. My skin was still smarting from the acidic bath they made me take and my arms and legs stung from my first and, if I have any say in it, only waxing in my life. _Now I know why most girls prefer to shave_. I think, gritting my teeth.

"Almost done sweetie!" A blue haired freak named Panache, says. His blue hair is shoulder length and just brushes the rhinestones inlaid in the shoulders of his acid green jacket. I think he believes it makes him look tough but it just makes him look more ridiculous.

"If only we could do something about your hair!" Lorelei says. She has gold tattoos over, what I assume is, a fake tan. She also has earned some marginal respect from me in fashion choice. Her hair is blond with red highlights and blue tips, and swept back in a fancy Capitol-type high pony tail. Aside from that, she has multiple gold piercings in her ears, eyebrows, lips, nose, and even one in her tongue. If I had to guess, she probably has one in her navel too, but she's wearing a dress that covers her stomach. The dress, purple, isn't much shorter than my reaping dress was and her high heeled boots reach past her knees.

Normally I wouldn't have cared what Lorelei was wearing, but it's actually pretty cool looking. Granted, her good taste doesn't extend to her mannerisms. She's still an idiotic bimbo like every other Capitolite. To make things worse, my third stylist, Everett, is sick so things aren't going as fast or as smoothly as Panache and Lorelei would have liked.

"Fahran makes the last call on what to do with her hair and you know it." Panache reminds her, and then tells me to stand.

I stand completely naked as they do some last minute touchups, a stray hair here, another there, and so on until I'm completely hairless save for my eyebrows and my pixie cut. They leave me to fetch Fahran as soon as I'm deemed respectable. _Gorath wasn't exaggerating when he said they'd treat me like a disease that needed to be cured!_ I think in disgust.

My stomach feels hollow, despite my large breakfast, so it must be at least two o'clock. I tap my foot with impatience while I wait. _Foot tapping, I can add that to my repertoire of revived nervous habits._ I think in disgust.

Just then, a short man came in. He had flame red hair and his makeup was very dramatic and heavy. He also would have been shorter than me if he hadn't been wearing platform boots. "I'm Fahran, your stylist." He says. His voice is especially high pitched and nasally, a combination that makes me wince as he speaks.

I stand still as he walks around me, inspecting my dimensions. As with the prep team, I don't feel self conscious at all. My gladiator outfit was no more than a bikini, and I wore that in front of hundreds of drunken men at home. Only then does it strike me how little difference there is between my work uniform and that of a stripper.

"Good, good, well muscled, small but nothing to be done about that, punk hair, all good…" Fahran mutters as he takes in my body. "Good, I'll need to make some adjustments but I think my idea will work just fine!" He says at last, clasping his hands together. He says nothing about the patchwork of color on my bruised stomach, unlike my prep team, who cried in anguish over it.

"Um, what idea?" I ask. Just then my stomach gives a small gurgle.

Fahran titters like a silly little girl at that. "Oh my! How inconsiderate of me! You must have skipped lunch with how long it took to prepare you! At least we didn't have to shampoo your hair or it really would be late!" He says, "Follow me!"

I quickly grab my robe and skip after him to a sitting room. There is already a large assortment of food on the table; soups, salads, vegetables, fruit, meat, pasta, breads, and even desserts.

"I hope you don't mind terribly if I leave you here. I already ate and I need to adjust your outfit and add some finishing touches." Fahran says, bowing out of the door. I hear a little click behind me and I know I've been locked in; again.

With nothing better to do, I attack the food with a voracious appetite. Downing a steak, with pasta salad and curried vegetables on the side, I'm reaching for some pie when my prep team enters and whisks me away to prepare for the parade.

If this morning consisted of wiping away gunk, this afternoon is dedicated to piling it on. While the end effect is accented cheek bones, a smoky eye, and a blood red pout; I still don't get why I needed all of the concealer, it feels like I'm coated in an inch of mud! They even apply it to my chest 'to blend in [my] beautiful tan', which guarantees my costume shows cleavage. Despite my promise to be kind and comply, I insisted that I rub in the bronzer on my chest. Panache may have seen my junk, but there's no way in hell I'm letting him touch it.

It's already night time by the time Fahran bustles in with my costume. He and Panache get in a hissy fit because Panache needs to paint my nails and Fahran needs to tailor the outfit. Lorelei helps me slip into my dress while the others bicker. It's actually a pretty decent costume. The dress is made of pliable animal skin with striped fur like a tiger. It's so tight, I have to suck in my gut to squeeze into it, but it looks tough. I know Gorath won't like what it does for my image, but I love it.

By that point the men have come to an agreement. I stand while Panache attaches fake, pointy nails and paints them blood red, almost like claws. At the same time, Fahran adjusts my headdress which is a magnificent collaboration of a giant fanged skull surrounded by a crown of feathers that drape down my back in a long tail that reaches the ground. The feathers range from red to brown to black, and remind me of an old painting of an Indian chief I once saw.

While the men do that, Lorelei fastens a scary looking necklace around my neck, made up of what I recognize as giant claws and teeth, possibly grizzly. The last time I saw grizzly claws that close was when I was walking home after a fight one night and I came across one that had killed a sheep. I don't think it saw me because I backed away as quietly as I could and gave it a wide birth, but it scared the shit out of me.

Lorelei then fastens a black leather belt with a bones dangling from it, around my waist, purely for decoration. I note, with some disgust, that the bones are decorated to look like they have dried blood and gristle clinging to them. I know I'm supposed to look like some warrior princess or something, but I'm starting to feel like a savage.

Lorelei and Panache both start painting archaic symbols on my arms and face while Fahran sticks a blunt silver sword in my belt; deadly looking, yet harmless. Fahran adds some ivory and wooden bangles on my ankles and wrists as a final touch, just as Panache finishes the last symbol on my neck.

I don't have time to look at myself in a mirror, though I know I must look like a deadly savage. I don't think Fahran even waits for the archaic symbols to dry completely before he whisks me to the elevator and down to the stables.

I'm the last to arrive, so, naturally, everyone stares at me as I walk to my chariot. I can see jealousy on some of the outer districts faces, and pure distain on those of the Careers. They don't have time to stare at me for long because right as I reach my chariot, the anthem starts to play and the doors swing open to allow the District 1 chariot to leave.

Leo gives me a hand up so I don't have to jump, which is good since the pain in my bruise is starting to flare up again. I admire how we are wearing complimentary costumes, yet different. Leo's costume consists of a loin cloth and a long furry cape that also reminds me of a bear. It's fastened in front with a clasp that looks like a skull. Our belts and headdresses match but instead of bangles, Leo has far more tattoos; mostly on his skinny chest. His muscles are defined, but from lack of fat, not from physical exertion, like mine. I know he's supposed to look tough without a shirt, but he looks like a boy dressed up in his father's cloak and headdress.

"You look amazing!" He says, his face flaming in that same splotchy blush he had on the train.

"Thanks, you too." I say, smiling.

Leo shakes his head and laughs, "The costume may be awesome, but I don't have the body to do it justice. If I was muscular like you, then yeah; but I'm not." He says. I don't have time to reply before the chariot lurches forward into the city center. The roar of the crowd reminds me of the fighting ring. Suddenly I wish I was only dressed like this as some promotional thing for Hersh, not the Hunger Games. Leo was right, he doesn't have the body to pull off the costume; but I can imagine Angus wearing it, or even Jonathon. Both would have looked fearsome in such a get up.

I wave and smile like a mindless drone. Some people are even calling our names and throwing flowers at us. I want to hate this candy colored bimbos, but I just can't bring myself to care enough. I go through the motions, like Gorath would have wanted, and literally just let life pass me by.

The Chariot jolts to a halt in front of the President's mansion. The President was just sworn in a few days ago as the previous President had been murdered. There were rumors of poison and a second uprising, but it's all nonsense. I wouldn't have been surprised if this President Coriolanus Snow, was the one who had murdered the President. I only saw him once before, at an inauguration speech a few days ago, yet his eyes had been cold, heartless, and void of concern for the previous President. If dad's advice about eyes being the window into a person's soul was right, then the new President has no soul.

I struggle not to shiver as he begins to speak. I don't know if it's his cold tone, or the fact that I'm not wearing sleeves, but I feel chilled to the bone. _I don't trust that shifty eyed weasel!_ I keep thinking to myself as he speaks. I ignore his words, the content doesn't matter, in the end, he's still condemning all of us. I glare at him, despite my promise to look like an innocent little princess.

I do manage to quit glowering long enough to go around the city circle, enter the Training Center and escape into the elevator. The silly smile melts off my face in the elevator, and by the time I reach the 10th floor, I'm glaring again. Verdandi is waiting for me but I brush past him and into what I assume is my room.

Once alone, I fling off my headdress, rip off my bangles, belt and necklace, and fling myself onto the fluffy comforter. I think about how cruel President Snow is. How he could choose to end the Hunger Games right now if he wanted. How he's sitting in his giant mansion, surrounded by luxury, while the Districts are working their fingers to the bone to scrape by.

The knot of anger builds and builds in my stomach until I have to scream or risk combusting.

I scream.

I screech like an eagle, bellow like a mad cow, and howl like a coyote. My scream holds pain and anger and sorrow. Every last scream in history funnels through time into my gut-wrenching wails. And though I can hear Verdandi pounding on my door;

I scream.

**Lots of insight into Diana's past. I hope you enjoyed it. Do you wait breathlessly every Sunday for me to update? Do you like Diana? Do you need to know what happens next? Then review! If you can't review, please follow the story so I have some idea of who's following this story. Believe it or not, big numbers are encouraging!**


	6. Chapter 6: Learning to Kill

I wake up in my bed. I'm wearing nothing but my underwear and my head is pounding and fuzzy. Because of this, it takes me a while to remember what happened. The last thing I remember is screaming until Verdandi and some guy in white burst in. I remember feeling a prick in my arm, and then I must have blacked out.

My hands absently reach for the spot where I felt the prick. It's very tender and I can feel a slight lump beneath my skin. Groggily, I turn my head to look at my shoulder. There is some sort of lump, just as I thought, but nothing else. _Some sort of chip?_ I wonder.

Thinking makes my head swim so I lay back on the bed and stare at the fancy lamp fixtures until there's only one above me. Slowly, I try sitting up. My vision swims again and I can feel darkness tugging at the corners of my vision. As soon as the vertigo passes, I try standing. My legs are rubbery and threaten to crumple beneath me, but I grab the bedside table for support. I have to wait for the vertigo to pass again, before trying to walk to the bathroom by leaning on furniture.

I do make it eventually. I slowly peel off my underwear and step delicately into the shower. Then I did what Hersh instructed me to do the first time I got knocked out cold, I set the water to be as cold as possible. It does exactly as I hoped; it wakes me up fully, bringing my senses into sharp focus. I gasp from the icy blast and before long I'm shivering uncontrollably so I turn the water up to a normal temperature. This time I use a simple lemon shampoo, it's the least strong scent of all the shampoo choices.

By the time I emerge from my shower, I feel fully aware and rejuvenated. I don't bother with fancy clothes; I just throw on the first thing I find: jean shorts, a green tank top and sneakers.

I try my door handle, and to my relief, I find it unlocked. Exiting my room, I follow my nose into the dining room. The décor is beautiful and outlandish but I barely give it a second glance, heading straight to the breakfast buffet. I was out all night and consequently, I missed dinner so I'm starved.

I'm just sitting down to a huge plate of French toast and bacon when Leo enters. Shock and worry fight in his eyes, but his face settles on worry, crinkling his nose and eyebrows. His face reminds me of my last visit with Ian and I want to start crying again but somehow I stay calm, relaxed even.

"I'm so glad you're okay! Verdandi said they had to sedate you!" Leo cried, rushing over to give me a big hug. I tense up in surprise, causing Leo to flinch and release me. He looks somewhere between reproachful and embarrassed. "sorry." He mutters.

"No need. You just surprised me; that's all." I say. He takes that as a cue to fetch a plate of donuts and glass of milk, before sitting down next to me.

"So…what happened? I mean…I heard the screaming; but…?" Leo asked, taking a huge bite out of a jelly donut. The jelly squirts out onto his face and there's icing on his nose, making him look like some sort of clown.

I let out a laugh, but I calm down before the hysterics can start. _Maybe it's the sedative?_ I wonder. I've never felt so calm before so it must be. Leo gives me a questioning look so I point at the donut. When he still doesn't get it, I say, "Those donut guts on your face look ridiculous."

"Oh." Leo gasps, wiping off the jelly and icing.

"Anyway," I continue, "I was just missing home and my family and all, and the parade just reminded me of the Games and how many tributes there are and, I don't know; it just got to me I guess." I say. I know I'm babbling but the truth is, I'm not really sure anymore. Nothing seems like it should upset me that much anymore. _Or maybe that's the sedative talking_.

"Oh, okay, yeah; I can totally understand. I just figured you'd be the last person to crack under pressure." Leo said, the worry melting from his face.

"In hindsight, I probably should have screamed into a pillow or something; I didn't need to be sedated though." I say, finishing up my plate and going for seconds. Leo and I don't talk after that, we just eat in silence. I'm on my third plate, and Leo has switched to fresh fruit by the time our mentors enter.

"I'm so glad you're okay honey!" Belinda says, giving me a pat on the cheek. The worry is starting to annoy me, and the pat on the cheek feels demeaning.

"I'm fine! Why don't you people understand that!? I just needed to get some emotions out! Last I checked, screaming wasn't a crime so why'd Verdandi sedate me? He didn't even ask; he just got some guy to jab me with a needle!" I shout, standing so fast I knock over my chair. Belinda looks shocked at my outburst, but Gorath seems to take it in stride.

Suddenly I can't stand Belinda. Just because she's a Victor doesn't give her, or anybody else, the right to patronize me. I grab a plate of rolls and stomp off to my room to eat them. I can hear whispering coming from the dining room until I close my door behind me. I would have slammed the door if I wasn't so damn calm! It infuriated me that even my emotions weren't my own. Yet even while it infuriated me, I felt so peacefully calm and serene.

I'm sitting on my bed, facing away from the door as I eat. Consequently, I can't see who comes in. Whoever it is doesn't say a word, or even sit down, they just stand quietly behind me until the curiosity gets the better of me. "What?" I growl, tearing savagely at a roll. I want to cry, but I'm not sure I can anymore.

"It's good to let your emotions out now. It plays up the princess angle, and the more you release now, the less it will hurt in the arena." The voice says. _Gorath! I should have known!_

"So, you're not upset?" I ask, turning to look at him. His face looks contemplating and appraising. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest in his standard posture.

"Honestly? I balled like a baby my first few nights; not publicly, but still. I think that's what saved me from breaking down like my district partner and my ally from District 7 during the games." Gorath says. _Translation: don't bottle it up, let it out now. Well, thank you Dr. Psychiatrist! _

"Um…thanks?" I say because I'm not sure what to say to a confession like that.

"Do you remember my games?" Gorath asks. I do, but barely, since I was only five, all I remember is a lot of blood. I shake my head so he continues, "Let me put it this way; After killing three people, my district partner got real depressed and killed herself during the night. The ally from District 7 went crazy and broke down in hysterics six days into the games; I had to kill him or risk being caught by the Careers. Another girl, District 5 I think, curled up in tears and didn't even try to defend herself when she realized she was going to die without seeing her family cause she hadn't bothered to think about the possibility before that. I was labeled brutal because I killed tributes who were blubbering for their mommies; no one realized how hard it was for me, just because I didn't cry on T.V.!"

I don't know what to say, and for once, I'm totally speechless. I never thought about how other people were thinking. I just sit there, starring at him until he speaks again. "Don't ever be ashamed of being upset. Even the Careers are upset, though they don't like to show it. It's not a matter of if you cry or breakdown, it's _when_ and _how bad_."

"So I should blubber through training?" I ask.

"Only if you really are upset; fake tears won't cut it, and you don't want to overdo it." Gorath says.

"So how should I pull off the innocent princess thing?" I ask, "Do stuff I'm bad at?"

"That wouldn't hurt. But for the record, what are you good at?" Gorath asks, giving me that appraising stare again.

"Hand to hand combat. I'm fast and strong." I say, almost automatically.

"You a gladiator?" Gorath asks. He asks it off-handedly, but it still catches me by surprise.

"Yeah; how'd you know?" I say once I find my voice, my heart pounding slightly.

"You seem like the type." Gorath shrugs.

"So you never saw me fight?" I ask, surprised.

"I've seen more than my share of high stakes fighting, I don't need to pay to see more." Gorath snorts.

"Yeah, I guess you would have; competing and mentoring every year." I sigh, blinking in sympathy.

Gorath shakes his head a little, as if to clear it. "You any good at ranged weapons? Or survival?" he asks. I shake my head no. We don't use weapons in the ring back home, and I've never been desperate enough to risk scavenging for food in the fields. "Then work on those. Learn edible plants, snares, fire, and shelter building for sure. I want you to work on knife throwing as well since knives will also be perfect for hand to hand combat. Don't ignore the other weapons, just in case that's all you get. The other kids will be suspicious if you don't use weapons, just ignore the ugly ones like whips and maces. Also, ignore the hand to hand combat station; you don't want to reveal your strengths until your private training."

"Is that all?" I laugh.

"Just be glad I'm giving you instruction. I know plenty of other mentors that wouldn't bother." Gorath mock-growls.

By now I've finished my rolls and the clock claims I have five minutes to get down to the training gym. Gorath walks with me as far as the elevator doors. "You know what you're supposed to do?" Gorath quizzes me, leaning against the elevator door to keep it from closing.

"Master edible plants, snares, fire, shelter, and throwing knives; experiment with a few other weapons; no whips or clubs, and save hand to hand combat for private session." I rattle off quickly.

"And act like a sweet little princess." Gorath says, pressing the training gym button and stepping back. The doors close with a swoosh and a ding before the elevator drops so fast it feels like the floor just dropped out beneath my feet. I don't even have time to review my instructions before the elevator stops and the doors open with another swoosh and ding.

I let my jaw drop as I stare at the huge training gym before me. It's about five times the size of the fighting arena back home. It might even be the biggest room I've ever been in, including the time I got lost in the stables where dad worked when I was eight. Despite the size, every inch of the gym has some sort of functional use. All the weapons and targets line the wall, _probably to avoid any 'accidents'_, while the end opposite of me is dedicated to the most complex obstacle course I've ever seen, including a rock-climbing wall. The center of the room holds the survival stations as well as a boxing ring and a swimming pool. There's a track around the center stations to practice running. Even the ceiling is covered with a ropes course; an extension of the obstacle course area. _Man, the Capitol doesn't mess around._ I think in awe, before remembering that all of this is to practice killing other kids.

I force myself to walk toward the other tributes, thankful that I'm not the last to arrive, although Leo is already there, whispering to the District 8 tributes. I quickly assess them again while a trainer pins the number ten to the back of my shirt. The boy is on the taller side, under only some of the Careers and the District 6 girl, yet he's very lanky. The girl is far from petite, but definitely on the smaller side of the tribute pool, save for me and the 12 year olds. If I remember right, they're Hayden, 17, and Nía, 13. Just as I walk up, the District 5 tributes arrive and Atala, the tall, athletic head trainer, starts to address us.

Everyone falls silent as she explains the rules to us. We can't fight with other tributes (_no duh!_ I think) so there are experts at every station to teach us and assistants to spar with us if we wish. She then goes on to list all of the Survival and Weapons stations. I locate each one visually as she names them, compiling a list. Atala ends with a final warning, "While weapons are important, more tributes die directly or indirectly from exposure and not knowing what to eat and watch out for; keep this in mind as you train." She then releases us.

"So, you're Diana?" Nía asks, smiling and extending a friendly hand.

I force a brilliant smile and take her hand, "And you're Nía right?" I ask.

She nods and introduces her District partner as Hayden; so I remembered correctly. "We gonna just stand here all day yapping or actually practice life saving skills?" Hayden asks then.

"I don't know. Belinda didn't give us any specific instructions. What do you think?" Leo asks, turning to me.

Nía and Hayden both look at me as well. Suddenly the pressure's on me to decide. "Um, how bout we tackle that warning about survival and exposure and stuff?"

"Fair enough. How 'bout you go to the edible plants station, I go to shelter building and camouflage, Nía goes to knots and snares, and Leo goes to fire building. We can work on each for, say, a half hour and then rotate? That way we don't have to wait but we all learn the most important skills?" Hayden suggests.

"I'm guessing this means we're allies?" Leo asks.

"Totally!" Nía squeals, taking his arm and flouncing off to their 'assigned' stations.

"You don't mind right? Me giving out orders like that?" Hayden asks nervously, catching me appraising him.

"Not at all! I couldn't have suggested better!" I say as we walk to our stations. I leave him at shelter and camouflage before continuing on to edible plants. Luckily for us, no one else seemed to take up Atala's suggestion of working on survival skills. Districts 5 and 6 were trying out the obstacle course while everyone else started to feebly learn how to wield new and unfamiliar weapons.

I take a quick look around. The girl from District 6, Enya-18, looks like a lumbering bear as she tries to squeeze through the obstacle course; and is clearly being shown up by her district partner, Greg-15. The District 5 kids are helping each other, just like I expected, so they must be friends. I wince as the District 3 boy almost impales his own foot with a sword while his District partner listens to the trainer attentively. _Almost as if her life depended on it. But it won't help._ The Careers are all wielding familiar weapons with enough force and precision to make anyone shudder – damn Careers! At least they're using the scary looking stations I was advised to avoid. Aside from the Careers, no one stands out immediately, so I turn to the task at hand.

I spend the morning perfecting all the skills we'd agreed upon. By the time lunch rolled around, I could name and recognize every edible, poisonous, and medicinal plant by heart through sheer force of study. I also learned how to start a fire with matches, flint, and with a simple drill and fireboard. I worked on how to find or make a shelter, and how to camouflage such shelter which is just as important. Lastly, I worked on a few simple snares for food, not people. By the time I finally mastered my third snare, the bell rang for lunch.

The cafeteria was another, smaller, room off of the main gym. There were a couple of buffet lines and more than a dozen tables. I ended up just behind the Careers while waiting to serve myself, and end up having to listen to the District 2 boy, Daemon, brag about how he could eviscerate a tribute in ten different ways. Luckily, I have a strong stomach so my appetite isn't completely gone by the time I'm able to serve myself.

I wait for Leo and Nía before sitting at a table. Hayden joins us before long. We spend the hour discussing what we've learned and whose best at what. I downplay my edible plants skill, but I don't bother to pretend about anything else. We establish that Hayden is best at fire building, and Nía has a natural memory for plants. In actuality, my forced study probably made me equal to her, but I still want to watch out for her. She could 'accidently' poison one of us. Leo isn't that good at anything, and I don't think he's downplaying at all. He did the worst at edible plants, he can't start a fire without matches or flint, He can build and find shelter, but he can't camouflage very well, and he spent most of his snare learning time trying to get out of a snare that wrapped around his ankle.

"So, what should we work on this afternoon?" I ask after refilling my plate.

"Weapons." Hayden says. We just stare at him until he explains, "We'll need to protect ourselves."

"He's right, why don't we split up and work on whatever weapon each of us thinks will work best for them." I suggest.

"Okay, but I'm no good at fighting." Nía mumbles.

"Nonsense!" I say. She gives me a doubtful look but I persist, "You may be small but you're fast right? Maybe work on a blade and then try the obstacle course. If you can move fast, you can either strike or get away before the other person."

"Maybe." She says, but I can tell she doesn't believe it for a minute.

"What about you?" Leo asks.

"Not sure, I might try archery or swords; maybe throw a spear? I'll have to try different things." I say nonchalantly, "How 'bout you?"

"I'm gonna train on spears I think." Leo says, smiling grimly.

"Spears huh? Never would have guessed. You sure you can heft one high enough to throw it?" Hayden asks. I can tell it's not meant to be an insult; he's genuinely concerned.

"I'll have to practice that, but I was thinking that would be best for a close range weapon for me. See, back home, I'm a shepherd so I have to protect the sheep from coyotes – wild dogs – with my walking stick. I figured the long handle on a spear would be similar." Leo explains sheepishly.

"Woah! You fight wild dogs?!" Nía gasps.

"It's my job. If I don't, they'll kill the sheep. Never really thought of it as training, though." Leo says, shrugging it off. I guess I never thought of my gladiator fighting as training for the Hunger Games either. I bet Jonathon did though; he was always far-sighted like that.

"And you, Hayden?" I ask.

"Not sure. I'd _like_ to learn archery and sword fighting, but if I'm no good at that, I'll have to try something else." Hayden says, shrugging.

"Okay, well let's just try out possible weapons today and see if we can each find something we're good at. Then we can focus on those tomorrow." I say. Everyone agrees to that plan.

"You don't mind right? Me giving out orders like that?" I whisper cheekily to Hayden as we're dismissed from lunch. He just smiles at me before going over to the archery range to practice. I smirk at his receding back before heading to the sword station.

I soon realize, that while my footwork is good, and my speed and posture are okay, I feel unbalanced holding a sword. I thank the trainer for the lesson before joining Leo at the spear throwing station. Surprisingly, I'm not too shabby at it. It takes me a while to learn the posture and technique, but I'm able to hold the spear steady and throw it hard enough so that after an hour, I'm hitting the center of the dummy's chest about 70% of the time. I'm doing better than Leo because I'm stronger and can throw the spear better.

I watch Leo spar with a trainer at close quarters with blunt sticks. He wasn't kidding when he said he was good with a stick up close. Seeing his miserable attempts to throw the spear makes me doubt if he'll do well though since a bigger tribute could easily overpower him or hit him long-range.

Speaking of long-range, I wander over to the archery station. I listen to the trainer carefully as he explains posture and sighting down the arrow, but when I try, I fail. Unlike Hayden, I'm having immense trouble pulling back the tight bowstring, and it's even harder for me to aim. The girl from District 1, Jasmine, is effortlessly destroying the dummies with well placed arrows to the head and chest; she even looks bored! Hayden can't pull back the string quite as powerfully as she can, but he can get it all the way back to his cheek, and all of his arrows are hitting well within the target, even if he isn't getting bulls-eyes like Jasmine.

By the time we're dismissed, my right forearm is raw from being whacked by the bowstring every time I released an arrow. My leather cuff would have been useful in protecting from that, but I still haven't gotten it back yet. I think I'll leave the archery to Hayden and work on knives tomorrow.

Belinda needs only to ask if anything good happened during training before Leo goes off about making friends with the Tributes from District 8. Gorath gives me a look that says 'you okay with this?' and I shrug before digging into the food. Tonight I only manage two bowls of soup, two plates of regular food, and one dessert before I'm too full to eat. _It must be all this rich food. I'm not as hungry as I used to be._

That night I sleep like a log due to my long day of training.


	7. Chapter 7: Contingency Plan

**Okay, so I know this is a bit of a filler chapter, but I hope it's still okay. You learn more about the other tributes in this chapter. I try not to do filler chapters for this reason so I hope it's okay and not too rambling/descriptive. Enjoy!**

I'm so excited for training the next day that I bolt down a huge breakfast before descending in the elevator. Leo just gives me an odd look and rolls his eyes, but I don't care. Despite the reason for it, I actually find training fun! Consequently, I'm one of the first tributes to arrive. The only other tributes are the two from District 5, Benjamin -15 and Greta-15.

They grow quiet as I enter, although I'm hardly intimidating. "Hi! Benjamin and Greta right?" I squeal, beaming a huge smile at them.

"It's Ben, actually." The boy says, not looking at me.

"You're way too happy about training." Greta sniffs.

I take that as a cue to play up the 'princess' act. "Well, I figure if I'm gonna die, I might as well enjoy my last few days! No point in being a grouch!" I say.

"That's a little optimistic." Ben notes. His eyes do that elevator thing but I know he's only sizing me up as competition. He must think a short girl who's obviously a ditz is no competition because his shoulders and expression relax. As soon as he relaxes, Greta does as well, as if waiting for permission from him.

"Yeah, well, the Careers have been training their whole lives! If they weren't a part of the games we might actually stand a chance cause then we could actually steal some decent supplies from the cornucopia." I say, glowering at the District 2 kids who've just arrived.

"You said it! It's totally unfair!" Greta agrees.

"Wait a minute! What do you mean by 'we'?" Ben inquires.

"Oh, nothing. Just, um…us outer district kids in general." I say, indicating the District 6 and 9 kids who've arrived.

"You couldn't possibly mean like an alliance or something?" Greta asks slyly.

"What?! I mean… if you want to, but I kind of already have an alliance with some other kids." I mumble sheepishly.

"Your District partner and the tributes from 8, right?" Ben asks. I nod, so he continues, "Well, maybe if you change your mind, you could join us."

"What Ben means is, we want to ally with _you_ just not all the kids you're allied with." Greta clarifies.

"Oh, well, I'm flattered." I say.

"So…?" Ben prompts.

"Um…can I get back to you on that?" I ask

"Why?" Greta pouts.

"Well, I need to ask my mentor." I say. They nod in understanding at that so I press on, "Out of curiosity, why don't you like my allies?"

"It's not that we don't _like_ them…" Greta mutters.

"It's just Nía, she's basically useless and weak." Ben finishes.

"Between you and me, I agree, but Hayden and Nía seem to be a package deal and I definitely want Hayden. He's great at survival and archery and you know what they say…keep your friends close and all that." I confide.

"So, if something should happen to Nía, we'd consider the rest of you." Ben winked. Greta nodded.

"I get your drift…" I say, "But can I ask you two something?"

"Sure, anything!" Greta says. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree when I basically promised to kill Nía, probably because it would mean three strong, new allies.

"How do you two know each other?" I ask.

They look stunned, as if my question surprised them. "Wha-what do you mean?" Ben stammered.

"I saw Greta flinch when you were reaped and I couldn't help but think you two must be friends or maybe cousins…" I trail off.

"We're actually dating." Greta admits. She's glaring at me, as if to dare me to feel sorry for them.

"Oh, wow. That really blows." I say, because I can't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah." Ben says. Things feel really awkward then and I don't know what to say, which is probably why I ditch them as soon as Hayden and Nía show up. Or maybe it's to hide from my for-sure allies that I was conspiring with the District 5 kids.

"Hey, what's up?" Hayden says, staring pointedly at the District 5 kids.

I decide to go for the partial truth. "I noticed that they seemed to know each other at the Reaping, so I wanted to ask them about it." I say, shrugging as if it's not important.

"Yeah, I noticed that too." Nía says. Her tone invites an explaination.

"They're a couple." I say, but Nía still looks baffled so I explain, "They're dating." Even Nía, slow as she was on the uptake, winces in sympathy. Then they both do that thing where they stare at the District 5 couple while trying to look like they're not staring at them. We chit chat idly until Leo arrives at the same time as the District 12 Tributes, completing the group.

Just then, Atala releases us and we decide to work on weapons until lunch. I practice throwing spears for a little bit, then I spar with the trainer, using some of the quarterstaff techniques I remember Leo using. I move on after a half hour, though. I was planning on practicing sword fighting and archery, just for show, but I skip over both of them in favor of what I really wanted to learn – knives.

Walking over to the knives, I spend a half hour listening to the trainer describe the different types of knives, and the best way to throw each of them. I spend the morning, perfecting my form and my throw, and by the time the bell rings for lunch, I'm hitting the target about 80% of the time. It's not as easy as I may have imagined, but it's still fun. I knew the minute I picked it up that it was the best weapon for me, even if there was a lot to know about throwing it. The knives were lighter than the swords and didn't unbalance me at all. They were easier to handle than the spears, and were far easier to throw than pulling back a bowstring. It was a perfect weapon for a petite yet strong girl like me. Bonus: none of the Careers seemed to specialize in knives so if there are any, there won't be as much competition to obtain them.

I can't help the bounce in my step as I serve myself and join my allies at what I'm starting to think of as 'our' table. I chow down on the food with a smile and listen to Leo rave about how well he's doing at spear throwing and Hayden discuss which bows work best for him. Nía stays sullen and quiet. I remember seeing her fly through the obstacle course in decent time, but I don't know if she's found a weapon yet.

"Of course, what bow you prefer is pointless since we might not get any of the weapons we want." Nía finally snaps.

"But we have to hope! I mean…I'm no good at sword fighting and I don't even want to think about if there aren't any spears." Leo gasps.

"You're both right. Nía, we have to be prepared for the worst, but Leo is right to hope for the best. As long as we demonstrate how good we are at our designated weapons, they'll be inclined to put them in the cornucopia for the sake of entertainment. It's far more interesting for the Capitol when there are a bunch of strong, well-matched competitors. That's what makes the finale so great to them." I reason.

"But what if I'm not good at any weapon?" Nía whispers. She's so quiet, I'm not sure if we were meant to hear it or not.

"Cheer up Nía. You'll find something you're good at." Hayden says, patting her shoulder. She just sniffs and picks at her food until the bell rings.

"Should we still work on weapons?" Leo asks as we get up to leave.

"Nía should." I say, "But the rest of us should practice on the obstacle course one more time."

"True, but we also need to practice our survival stuff again." Hayden says.

"How 'bout the three of us practice on the obstacle course and Nía can try out some more weapons; then we could join up again for the last hour or so to work on survival stuff?" Leo suggests. It's a good plan, and we all agree to it.

The first time through the obstacle course, Leo, Hayden, and I race each other. I beat Leo by a hair, but Hayden comes in far behind us. His height seems to be the main issue, and while he's strong enough, he's not that as coordinated as us. We then try sprinting around the track. Unsurprisingly, Hayden is the fastest since his legs are the longest, while Leo and I tie. All three of us know how to swim, so we skip the pool and work on the obstacle course some more.

Eventually, I tell Leo to go work on survival training a half hour early since he's tiring out, and he's doing relatively well on the obstacle course, while his survival skills are still lacking. By the time Hayden and I join Nía and Leo, we're both much faster and Hayden is more coordinated so that he's losing by less and less time.

We don't bother rotating today. Leo works on everything, Nía works on fire building and shelter/Camouflage, Hayden works on edible plants, and I work on some more fire starting techniques. _At least we'll be able to survive_. I think smugly as I notice Ben, Greta, and the tributes from District 3 and 6, join us. _That must mean the kids from 7, 9, 11, and 12 already know the basics of survival_. It makes sense; those districts are all really close to nature, except 12 which is poor and out in the boondocks.

I'm confident in our skills by the end of the day, but constant nightmares about the games sap all of my confidence away by the next morning. By the time I finally get some peaceful sleep, it's already 4:00am. I must miss whatever alarm or wakeup call there was, because I wake up to Gorath shaking me roughly.

"Wha-What time is it?" I yawn, noting that the room is very bright.

"Let me put it this way _princess_, you have 15 minutes to get dressed, eat, and get down to training." Gorath sneers. The effect is instantaneous, like lighting a fire under my ass. I immediately jump out of bed – taking a moment to register that my stomach doesn't hurt at all anymore – and run into the bathroom. I decide to use some powerful last-all-day perfume and brush my teeth before racing back into my room. I grab the first thing I see, a tee shirt and shorts, before racing out to the dining room. Everyone is finished with breakfast so I'm the only one there. I grab two croissants and a strip of bacon before running to the elevator. The small breakfast seems abnormal compared to what I've been eating, but there were days when I had to eat and run when I was late for school, so this actually feels pretty normal.

_Why couldn't Gorath wake me sooner?_ I gripe as I try to wipe the bacon grease off on my (black) shorts. I just have time to swallow my last bite of croissant by the time the elevator lands. I'm the last one to arrive, and judging by the annoyed looks from the trainers, I'm late. Atala dismisses everyone as soon as I arrive so I jog over to the others.

"What took you so long?" Leo asks.

"Overslept," I grunt. They take in my frazzled look and messy hair – as messed up as a pixie cut _can_ get, anyway – and accept my answer without further explanation.

"We should work on whatever it takes to help us get good scores." Hayden says, "We'll need them to get sponsors."

None of us contradict his logic, so we split up and work on different things. I do the edible plants test again, run through the obstacle course one last time, and throw spears and knives until lunch. I'm feeling confident, I'm hitting the spear targets just over 80% of the time for still targets, and 45% of the time for moving targets, and I'm up to 90% accuracy with still targets for knives, and 60% for moving targets. I even saw the Gamemakers looking at me when I was practicing knife throwing, so that's one less thing I'll have to focus on in private training.

Lunch today is a quiet affair. The only people talking are the Careers, the rest of us are too nervous about our scores to say anything. After lunch is when we are called individually for our private sessions. I try to imagine what each person is showing the Gamemakers and what score they'll get. Before I know it, Hayden, and then Nía, is called away. Leo and I egg them on as they stand up and walk out in turn. I wonder what score I'll get. An eight or a nine, maybe? _Jonathon got a nine and he still got killed by a girl who only got a 7._ Just as this thought flickers through my mind, Leo's name is called.

"Good luck." I say. _He'll probably get a six or a seven_. My mind automatically thinks.

"Thanks, you too. See you upstairs." Leo says as he stands and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I realize that I'll go nuts if I have to wait alone. I immediately stand up and pace over to where the District 11 kids are.

"Mind if I sit with you?" I ask, quietly. They seem surprised, but shake their heads and indicate that I should sit, so I do. I stare at them, and they stare back at me, as we assess each other. They both have chocolate skin, not quite as dark as Angus, and chocolate eyes and frizzy hair to match. Up close they look scary thin, yet both have well-defined, if not very big, muscles, just like me.

"I'm Eda." The girl says. I can't tell from her tone if she's glad to meet me or not, so I stay silent.

"I'm Jorge." The boy says, "The third." _Too bad there won't be a Jorge the forth._ I think, sadly. I remember from their reaping that Eda is 15 and Jorge is 13. Unless they get really good scores, they won't have any sponsors with their skinny frames and being from an outer District.

"I'm Diana." I say, politely. Apparently that's all they wanted to know because they turn their backs on me and ignore me until my name is called. They don't even wish me luck; course, we're not allies so it would only benefit them if I did poorly.

I remind myself of Gorath's instructions to do well in my private session as I enter the gym. The Gamemakers are all sitting around a big table full of food, some of them paying half attention to me, most of them drinking brightly colored cocktails.

"Ah-HEM!" I shout loudly, when they refuse to acknowledge me.

"Yes miss?" One of them asks, testily.

"I was wondering if I'm allowed to hurt and/or knock out the assistants?" I inquire sweetly, plastering a smile on my face. _Please say yes, please say yes, please…_

"Well, I suppose…as long as you don't do any lasting damage…" The Gamemaker blusters, obviously taken aback. My smile grows wider. _I'm gonna enjoy this!_

I then recruit the head trainer for hand to hand combat and ask him to spar with me. "And don't hold back!" I say cheekily. He gives me a doubtful look, but before he can respond, I'm attacking him. He's unprepared and ends up knocked into the pool.

"I did warn you not to go easy." I say, giggling. He hoists himself out of the pool and charges back into the ring. I sidestep him and retaliate. This time, he's actually prepared, and trying to win, so it takes me a few minutes before he's kneeling down, wheezing and clutching his ribs in pain. By this point, I've gained the attention of all of the Gamemakers.

I decide to take pity on the poor trainer, and ask for three assistants to take his place. They give each other a smug look that clearly says _"Three big guys against one puny girl? This ought to be easy!"_ I know my limits, however, and I'm pretty sure of my opponents skill, so I don't think I've bitten off more than I can chew. I'm right. It takes longer this time, but I end up standing over them as they lay wheezing for mercy with nothing more than a bruised rib where one of them caught me a glancing blow.

"How much time do I have left?" I ask, struggling not to sound like I'm breathing as hard as I am.

"Oh, ten minutes at most." The Head Gamemaker says. I have a feeling there's actually less time, but they want to see more.

I decide to take a risk, considering I'll be thrown into the games in any condition. I quickly employ five of the trainers, and drag out a set of low balance beams. Hopping on, I signal for them to attack me. I can tell they think I've lost it, that I must have suffered a blow to my head during training. None of them move until one of the Gamemakers barks at them to 'get on with it'. I'm unable to check my time, but I'm sure I don't use all of my allotted ten minutes. I do know that I have to be double careful not to fall off the balance beams. I give each of the assistants my signature blow to the base of the skull, knocking each of them flat. By the time I've knocked the forth one unconscious, some of the Gamemakers have started to cheer me on quietly. I even get some applause as the Head Gamemaker excuses me. _Maybe the euphoria will spread on to Jorge's private session. He'll need it._ I think as the elevator whizzes me up to the 10th floor.

**Okay, so you must like something about this story to have read so far. Please tell me what your favorite part is and what you hope will happen. I know what I want to do with this story but I'm open to any good ideas! See if you can guess why I named this chapter, "Contingency Plan"!**


	8. Chapter 8: Perfection

**So, this may seem a little cliché but I promise it's worth it! The Scores are the most nerve wracking part of Training in my opinion. Was it worth it for Diana? Read on…**

"So, how do you think you did?" Leo mumbles as we settle ourselves on the couch. We've been quiet all through dinner, trying to avoid the subject._ As if that were possible, seeing as the results are broadcast on live T.V._ I think with scorn.

"Pretty well, you?" I ask.

"Well, they didn't pay all that much attention really. I just threw spears, sparred with a trainer, and ran through the obstacle course before they told me to leave." Leo said.

"If it makes you feel any better, they didn't pay much attention to me at first either." I say, taking his hand.

"Why? What did you do?"

"Not much, just sparred with a handful of assistants with various weapons." I say vaguely. I have to struggle to stay calm and keep eye contact since the lie makes me feel awkward; dirty. Luckily, Leo must chalk up my evasive answer to nerves.

"I bet you did way better than me! I bet I only got, like, a 6."

"No way! I bet you got at least a 7!" I snort. I mostly say it to make him feel better though.

"That's easy to say for someone who at least got an 8!" Leo mutters, only half joking.

"What do you think Hayden and Nía will get?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"Why don't you two shut up and listen instead of guessing?" Verdandi sneers before Leo can answer me.

"A real ray of sunshine, ain't he?" I mutter, and Leo snorts hard in response. Just then Verdandi flicks on the T.V. and sits down in a fluffy armchair identical to the ones Belinda and Gorath are sitting in.

The opening anthem has just started and the picture of the District 1 male, Silk-18 receives a ten. No surprise there, I saw him chopping up dummies with Daemon, plus he's buff, trained, and a Career. Jasmine only receives a nine which surprises me, considering her skill with a bow. Daemon also receives a 10; no surprise there. The District 2 girl, Penelope-18, also receives a 10. Considering her haughty pride and competitive nature, she probably hoped to do better than the male Careers.

The District 3 kids both receive 5's but the District 4 girl, Melanie-16 receives a 9 while her district partner, Hamish-17, only receives an 8. She's the smallest Career so she must be doubly good to receive a 9 like that. _Size doesn't matter, you of all people should know that, Diana._ Says a voice that sounds an awful lot like Jonathon. Suddenly I wing back to the night I saw Jonathon receive his 9. I remember Ian and I cheering and howling when such a large number flashed up on the screen and thinking that Jonathon_ had_ to win with a score like that; _But he didn't_.

I come back to the present as Greta gets a 4. "Wow, that's the lowest so far!" Leo gasps. _She might be hiding something_. I think ruefully, _But I highly doubt it_. Still I keep it as a possibility. District 6 both get 6's. _I bet they aren't laughing at the Irony_. I think wryly.

The District 7 boy, Pitch, gets an 8, the highest non-Career score so far, and his district partner, Dina, receives a 7, despite her age. I can't help associating Dina to that (literal) backstabber that killed Jonathon, but no matter the score, gender, or district, her cinnamon curls and deeply freckled skin looks nothing like the pale, black haired girl that killed Jonathon.

I hold my breath in fearful anticipation as I realize that Hayden is next. I clench my jaw and start rubbing the soft fabric of the couch as his face flashes on the screen; and then the number 8. _An 8!_ I think, _He got an 8!_ I look over at Leo and see the same joy reflected in his eyes. We turn back to the screen, just as the number 3 flashes onto the screen – under Nía's picture. I hear Leo give a little choking sound as the Gamemakers confirmed what I already suspected – Nía is useless.

The two district 9 kids, (a 5 and a 6) flash past before Leo's face appears. Leo grabs my hand and I squeeze it hard, getting my hand crushed in response. Then the number 7 is flashing under his picture and everyone in the room lets out a sigh. Well, everyone except Verdandi who probably wouldn't have cared even if Leo had gotten a 12.

"7 is very good! We can work with that!" Belinda beams, shooting him a warm smile.

Secretly I'm glad he did so well, but I'm too focused on the face that has just appeared – mine. I start nibbling on my lower lip and squeeze Leo's hand so hard that he pulls away with a yelp of pain and astonishment. I stare at the T.V. until my eyes start to water. The moment seems to stretch out forever, ending in tiny numbers. _Is that a 1 or a 2?_ I wonder in absolute despair, but then my vision clears and I realize, it's both, right next to each other.

Twelve. A perfect score. No one sighs like they did for Leo, no one cheers like I did for Jonathon; there's just dead silence. Total shock in the room. My eye's flicker to Gorath and even he's looking at me in mild surprise and something I can't quite recognize. Awe – maybe? I don't stick around to find out. Running to my room, I slam the door and fling myself on the bed.

I'm in shock. Real, deep, physiological shock. _This has to be an evil, twisted joke!_ I think over and over. My limbs are dead and numb, my bloodless cheeks resting against the velvet comforter (though it's not living up to its name very well). I can't blink, I can't breathe, I feel like the world is cracking into tiny fragments because there is no way – _no possible way_ – that a petite little girl like me could fight that well. And if it's accurate? What then? What will people expect? _I'm not a killer! – Am I?_ And what about the other tributes? _I'll be targeted for sure!_

"You'll be targeted for sure." Someone says and at first I think that I've spoken out loud, but then I realize the voice is far too deep to be mine. I force my stiff, unyielding muscles to prop me up so I can see him; Gorath.

"You surprised me almost as bad as that score!" I scold.

"You need to learn to pay attention." Gorath chided, shaking his head slowly.

"It's not that! Just that you voiced my _exact_ thoughts." I explain, sitting up on the bed and crossing my legs.

"That would be 'cause it's true and neither of us is too big of a ignorant optimist to see it!" He growls in frustration, starting to pace. It strikes me that I've never seen him pace before, he's always still as a rock.

"What on earth did you _do_?" Gorath asks.

"Um; I may have taken on five trainers at once…while on balance beams…and, you know, sort of _knocked them out_." I mutter, and then defend myself by adding, "But I asked the Gamemakers for permission to hurt them first!"

"You did _what_?" Gorath asks, shaking his head in frustration.

"The question isn't what I did, but what do I do now." I whisper; the gravity of the enveloping me like cold embrace; tugging on my mind.

"You act surprised! Delighted! Shocked that a little thing like you could learn so much in three days! Act humble – and you might be able to still pull off being a princess."

"Yeah; because_ anyone's_ gonna believe I just _happened_ to _accidently_ earn a freaking _12!_" I hiss, rolling my eyes.

"Well fine! What do you suggest – _Little Miss Perfect_?!" Gorath sneered, his voice dropping an octave.

"Mysterious. Act like I have an ace up my sleeve. I can't do outright deadly – I'm too small. But the mystery and surprise behind the score will scare the crap out of the other tributes. Fear of the unknown is the greatest fear of all. It's why tributes jump at shadows in the arena – not because it _is_ a tribute, but because it _might_ be a tribute." I counter.

Gorath opens his mouth to argue; to shoot down my idea; but nothing comes out. Finally he closes his mouth and thinks; "you know? That might just work." He don't discuss any particulars because we have all of the next day to do that. Gorath just nods at me with something that I finally realize is respect, before leaving. _If I've earned respect from such a deadly Victor, then I'm in deeper shit than I thought!_

Once again, I'm decked out in fur. This fur is dark brown and soft as goose down. I think Fahran said it was Mink, though I've never been to the only Mink farm on the outskirts of District 10. The feathers on my headdress and splayed across my chest are also unfamiliar to me, but are the same shade of dark brown as the fur dress. This dress brushes the floor in the front and drags behind me in the back.

I finger the black, snakeskin belt with a snake skull as a buckle. It is intriguing and deadly looking; the ruby implants in its eyes making it look demonic. I know that it is supposed to match the red contacts Fahran made me wear.

As the elevator reaches the ground floor, I have to remember all of Belinda's training on how to walk in a long dress and still look sophisticated just so that my leather clad feet aren't entangled in the long fur skirt. _And to think I thought that lesson was a waste of time!_ I smirk at the thought, managing to cross the lobby to the area behind the interview stage.

"You look terrifying!" Leo say's giving me a nervous smile. I sigh and roll my eyes. He's been acting nervous around me ever since he saw my score.

"And you look sharp. So we both look great – thank the stylists." I say, eyeing his matching snakeskin suit and ruby red, silk tie.

"There you are! The girl everyone is talking about!" Hayden says, throwing his arms across my shoulders. I notice Nía sulking behind him, her eyes red and puffy, looking as if she wishes she could disappear. Both look like rainbows with all the bright colors their wearing, as if District 8 specialized in clowns, not clothing – not that Capitolites would know the difference.

"And, apparently, staring at." I add, trying to ignore the prickle of feeling all the other tributes watching me.

"Well, you did pull off a miracle!" Hayden says, but I can see the question in his eyes.

"I just sparred with some trainers. It may have been a little more elaborate in training, but I didn't expect to get such a great score. I'm still not sure why they gave it to me. I didn't even do anything to piss them off!" I snort.

"Now, now! A lady like yourself shouldn't snort!" Hayden chides.

"Did you just come over here to joke or did you actually have something important to say?" Leo mutters sourly.

"Actually, yeah. This might be our last chance to talk so I was wondering what the plan was for the arena." Hayden whispers, leaning closer. I notice Leo and Nía leaning in to hear him.

I realize they're all looking at me for a decision, as if my 12 has automatically made me leader. "Um, well I don't want to risk the bloodbath…" I start and the others nod so I continue, "But we'll need supplies."

"Bit of a dilemma, huh?" Hayden comments. I shoot him a look and the smile falls from his face.

"We _need_ those supplies!" I insist, and again everyone nods, "We should each try to run a short way in, grab something useful, like a pack, and then beat it. As long as we escape before the Careers reach the Cornucopia, we should be alright."

"What if we get separated? Not all of us have 12's." Nía pipes up.

"The tributes will be distracted trying to run, fight, or get supplies. As long as we get out of there in one piece, we can rejoin later, away from the Cornucopia." I say. It seems to assure her slightly.

Just then, the anthem starts playing and Caesar Flickerman walks out. Hayden and Nía quickly hustle back to their spots, just before the tributes start to file out onstage. I try to walk out on stage as gracefully as possible, but just barely managed to succeed in that endeavor since Jorge stepped on my fur train. Whether on purpose or not, it checks my forward momentum harshly and I almost stumble onto the stage before regaining my posture at the last minute.

I smooth my face into a passive, yet slightly aloof expression as the crowd roars at my appearance. I act as if I can't see or hear any of them as I sit down in the plush chair set up specifically for me.

I try to focus on the interviews, but my attention keeps getting drawn away to Caesar's canary yellow hair and makeup. He's almost too radiant to look at – almost like the sun – in the sort of way that hurts your eyes. I don't mark the time passing by the interviews, but by how dangerously close that blinding hairdo becomes as Caesar goes down the line.

I hear the Careers do different variations of deadly, from glowering to merciless. What I don't hear, are the words. The rest of the interviews are so unnoticeable that nothing breaks my concentration until something just as blinding and obvious as Caesar moves out of the corner of my eye – Nía, or more specifically, her iridescent rainbow dress.

I'm sort of upset that the first interview I actually notice is hers. It's pathetic. Caesar tries to make her talk but every answer is a quiet little squeak, no more impressive than a mouse. I almost feel like fainting from relief when the buzzer excuses her; a sentiment mirrored on her features as well.

Hayden's rainbow suit is also bright and cheery – though it's nothing compared to his attitude. He and Caesar crack jokes and have the audience in stitches long after the buzzer. _Memorable but in a good way._ I think with approval. _And since District 8's mentors are either clinically insane, have dementia, or are druggies; he must have come up with that all on his own._ I don't admit that he might naturally be funny, because I don't want to like his good humor – or I'll never be able to fight him in the Arena.

"And now for the girl we've all been waiting to learn more about! The queen of unexpected aptitude! Please welcome…Diana Hex!" Caesar shouts. If he says anything after that, it's unintelligible as the crowd literally goes wild. Some Capitolites have to be restrained by security guards as they try to storm the stage; others get into catfights as they try to get a better look at me.

I walk forward as serenely as I can, showing nothing more than mild interest, an impish smirk plastered on my face. I have to wait for quite a while as security guards regain order – not with weapons like they would in the districts – but with sharp words and harsh shoving, accompanied with wild gestures.

Finally, things calm down enough for Caesar to be heard over the screaming and he says, "Well, as you can see by the enthusiasm of your fans, you've made quite the unexpected splash here in the Capitol! And it's not hard to see why! Was that fierce girl hiding in there all this time and we just didn't know it?"

"Well…_I_ knew it. Isn't that all that matters?" I quip, as soon as the cheers settle down again.

"You're right of course, but perhaps you'd like to clue us in? We all want to know how you achieved a perfect score!" Caesar says. He gestures to the crowd, an unnecessary measure to goad them into feverish screaming.

Again I have to wait until they settle down before I can answer. "Maybe because I _am_ perfect?" I suggest a little too sweetly. The crowd goes nuts at this – per expected. Before Caesar can respond, I continue, "Or maybe it's true that great things come in small packages!"

Even Caesar laughs at that one. _You're being witty, not mysterious!_ I chide myself. Just then Caesar says, "Seriously though, what did you do?"

For the first time in the last five minutes, the crowd is silent, straining to hear my answer. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I say, giving him a wink and a smirk. The Capitolites eat it up like cake being spoon-fed to a baby.

I raise an arm to shush the crowd, which doesn't take too long, thankfully. Then I stage whisper, "Perhaps I can show you…" I raise my eyebrows knowingly.

The crowd screams in absolute adoration and uncontained excitement in their anticipation. But finally, even the happy cries settle down, and a charged silence fills the air. I can see the gamemakers eyeing each other as if wondering how to stop me from breaking the rules.

"…In the games!" I say, giving another wink, this time to the crowd. This time the screams are filled with whines and half-hearted protest as well as adoration. Underneath it all, I hear the loud buzzer from somewhere backstage and I flutter my fingers at the crowd in my best imitation of 'coy' to the endless screams of the crowd – and the glares of the Careers. _You did it! You survived your interview!_ I congratulate myself.

I watch with glazed eyes as the other tributes stand up to talk, but not even Leo gets a fourth of the response I did; even with twice the effort. Everything passes in a big blur, and I can't wait to escape the stage to the privacy of our apartment. As the elevator shoots up, so do my spirits as it finally hits me – _I may actually succeed where Jonathon failed. I may actually see Ian again. I may actually _WIN _the Hunger 'F'ing Games!_

**So Yayayayayayay! Interviews are done – as well as the most boring part traditionally. Hopefully not in your opinion; course, I won't know unless you review! **


	9. Chapter 9: The Bullpen

**And now for the return of the painful memories…**

"That was mysterious?" Gorath teases, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey! I'm a Gladiator, not an Actress!" I sniff haughtily.

"_I'm_ aware of that; just make sure the sponsors are too." Gorath says all traces of frivolity gone from his voice.

"I have sponsors?" I ask hopefully.

"You got a few when I gave my personal endorsement; a flood when your score appeared two nights ago, and I'll be expecting another sleepless night of accepting sponsors tonight after your performance." He confirms, giving me a rare smile. The smile makes his face seem warmer somehow, but it doesn't last long.

I smile back, a genuine one this time, and in a rare moment of affection, I feel an overwhelming urge to give Gorath a hug. Like Angus, I'm not sure whether to follow through with it or not; unlike Angus, Gorath doesn't make the decision for me. Instead I just waver on my feet for a moment as my body tries to decide what to do, before sticking out my hand. Gorath takes my dainty hand into his giant one, giving it a gentle shake. It feels awkward. I want to hug him, but I know that even the handshake is borderline too-friendly for him.

"Alright, enough mushy stuff." Gorath says, backing away, "A princess needs her beauty sleep. Order as much food as you can eat, then get some sleep, you're going to need the energy tomorrow."

"Sir! Yes! Sir!" I say, straightening up and giving him a mocking salute. He just rolls his eyes and walks off. I consider it progress that he didn't growl. I know I would have if some little pipsqueak had back-talked me like that.

I do as Gorath ordered. I order as much food as I think I can choke down. It's all hot, and not too unhealthy; stuff that will give me energy. I do order something called a turtle cheese cake and some fried chicken and potatoes, but that's it for the junk food. I only finish about half of everything plus a large slice of the cheesecake before I start to feel bloated.

I strip down, planning to try to sleep even though I'm far too awake for that. I'm detangling myself from the mink dress when I realize that I need to wash off all the makeup. At first, I just plan to scrub it off over the sink, but once I enter the bathroom I decide to take a full shower. _Might as well. It's not like I'm going to have time, or heck, even enough water to bathe in the arena._ I remind myself. I make the shower as scalding as possible and go through countless shampoos and bodywashes. My time in the capitol has made me cleaner than I've ever been in my entire life, but I'm mostly just killing time. _That's not the only thing you'll be killing in a few days._ I can't help but think.

Suddenly the water is too hot, the steam is suffocating, and the shampoo piled on my head weighs a hundred pounds. I wash out the shampoo, frantically trying to claw my way out of the shower. The dryers are too loud and instead of being embraced by air, I feel that the Capitol has violated me. That I have nothing left to hide; nothing that's truly mine.

I don't bother to wrap myself in a towel (_who's going to see me anyway?_)before running into my bedroom. Like the emotional train wreck I've become, I fling myself on the bed and curl into the fetal position, waiting for the tears to come. They don't. I must have waited for over an hour, but no tears, just a yawning hole in the pit of my stomach. _Fear? Sorrow? Anger?_ I try to guess the name of the black emotion that's filling the hole, but I can't.

"You? Afraid?" Someone asks. I look up, terrified that someone saw me curled up on my bed naked.

"Naked is a matter of opinion. Skin is just what we _see_. It's what's inside the skin that matters." The voice says. I still can't see anyone, though I think I recognize the voice. I look around frantically, trying to pinpoint the voice. It seems to be coming out of thin air. I've never believed in ghosts, but then, I never believed I'd be thrown into the Hunger Games.

"I didn't think I'd have to go either. I thought the worst that could happen was dad dying." The voice says. _It's Jonathon_. The moment I realize this, I notice a deep shadow in the corner near the closet. The shadow seems to move, condense into a familiar shape. A shape I've only dreamed of seeing for the past two years. He steps into the light filtered in through the window. He might as well have stepped into a golden spotlight, the way his entire body becomes visible.

"Jonathon-!" I choke, tears springing to my eyes.

"Don't cry Di." Jonathon murmurs softly. He walks over to the bed and crouches down so that his face is level with mine.

"I can't help it!" I cry. He cups my jaw in his hands and wipes the tears away with his thumbs. It's a small gesture, but it gives me the strength to stop crying, to have the dignity I once used as a mask.

"Don't worry. I cried all the time." He murmurs, pulling my head to his chest and wrapping his muscular arms around my small shoulders. _My rock is back_. "I never really left." Jonathon responds.

"I-I t-tried to m-m-move on b-but…" I stammer.

"Shhhh." He shushes, starting to rock me gently. "I know. I would have been offended if you _had_ forgotten me."

"Why are you here?" I ask. It comes out as a croak due to the lump in my throat so I gulp and ask, "I mean, why now? After all this time?"

"Why can't the Capitol have a rule that no more than one person per family can be reaped?" Jonathon counters, "Sometimes things just happen. Life's unexpected that way." It's the same thing he said when I asked why dad had to die. I can almost smell the manure from the field behind the house where we had talked.

"You said I had to stay strong for you and Ian, but you're dead, and Ian, well, I can't help him now, can I?" I cry, tears leaking out onto his tee shirt.

"You can return and help him!" Jonathon says, echoing Justin's parting words.

"But how!?" I whine, pulling back to look him in the eyes.

"You are the strongest girl I know. You can survive! You must survive! For Ian – and for me." Jonathon says. "Honor my memory. Do what I could not. Win! Return home a Victor, and more importantly, a sister!"

The words have an odd effect on me. The dark emotions that were sloshing around in that pit in my stomach are shrinking; no – not shrinking – consolidating, into a small, hard stone. Resolve, cold, unyielding, resolve. _I _WILL_ win!_ I promise myself, _No matter what it takes!_ And for the first time, I actually believe it.

"Yes you will. Now get some sleep." Jonathon says. I crawl under the covers and he kisses me gently on the forehead, just like he used to when I was younger. The kiss must be magic, because all my emotions slip away and I just have time for one final thought before I fall asleep.

_He's happy where he is, so long as his family is safe._

I sit up in alarm. At first I'm disoriented and unsure of what woke me. Then I hear it again, a sharp rap on the door. I find that the comforter, while rumpled, isn't covering me in the slightest. I quickly hop out of bed and run across the room to my closet. I desperately pull on some jeans and a tee shirt at random as the doorknob turns and starts to swing inward. I just manage to snap the jeans shut when a familiar flame-haired pancake face strut in on platform shoes.

"Fahran!" I can't help but sigh.

"Who did you think it was?" He asked testily

"Gorath, wishing me luck, or, god forbid, Verdandi." I admit.

"Well I see you got dressed in a blind panic; and I do mean _blind_." He says, sniffing at my simple choice in clothing.

"Does it matter? I'm going to have to change anyway!" I growl. Obviously Fahran is not a morning person, but his attitude is starting to piss me off.

"Hovercraft leaves in ten minutes. Eat and meet me by the elevator." Fahran snaps, turning heel and walking out stiffly.

I don't dignify his words with a comment, though I have to stop myself from throwing something at him. Good thing too, since the closest thing in reach is the left over cheesecake. Instead, I walk over to the remainder of my feast and have cold leftovers. I wolf down as many grains and carbohydrates as I can, praying for animals and greens in the arena.

I'm noshing on what's left of a wheel of cheese and a plate of buns when I meet Fahran by the elevator. He just gives me an impatient look and strides inside without a word. I polish off three of the four buns by the time we hit the roof. It's actually really pretty up here. I can smell flowers nearby and there's a tinkling sound that reminds me of bells, but it's the fresh breeze that reminds me of the open pastures of District 10.

True to its name, a hovercraft is hovering in the air just above the roof; beneath which, hangs a ladder. Ahead of me, Belinda and Gorath are waiting. I expected Belinda to hug me and say "I'll be watching out for you!" What I didn't expect was Gorath to hug me. He wrapped his arms around me in a gentle. The tightness in his muscles betrays the fact that this hug is forced.

"Weapons prices are through the roof, I can't waste our sponsorship money on one. Food price is down so that won't be a problem. No changes in medicine price either; still, get what supplies you can." He whispers softly. So softly that only I would be able to hear him.

Gorath pulls back and holds me at arm's length, his eyes showing nothing more than mild concern. "You got that princess?" He asks solemnly.

"I'll do my best, but there're twenty three other kids as well." I say, forcing a lump to appear in my throat. He gives me a half smile. Anyone who overheard us would just think he'd told me to try to win, not give me vital gift information.

I wave goodbye to Gorath and Belinda before grabbing the handles on the ladder. The second my hand touches the rung, an electric current freezes me in place. I'm slowly pulled up into the hovercraft like a fish on a hook. The simile is more apt than I thought because a lady comes over and sticks me with a needle to inject one of those fancy trackers that ranchers at home use on livestock. _How appropriate._ I think sourly as I'm finally freed of the ladder.

I sit next to Fahran the entire way; both of us ignore each other so I spend the time pondering what Gorath told me. _Maybe he was trying to warn me not only would I be responsible for my own weapon, there may not _be _many weapons available._ I'm almost certain that's what he was trying to suggest; the real question is – what does that mean for the bloodbath? _Medical supplies is normal._ With my amount of sponsors, that translates to "Not a problem." _Food is cheaper… hmm…maybe there won't be much food in the arena? It makes sense of course; the Game makers don't want us to starve. I mean, where's the fun in that?_

By the time I've analyzed, reanalyzed, and settled on the meaning of Gorath's parting words, the windows have blackened. I glance up in surprise as I realize that my muscles are sore. I check the time and find that hours have passed since I woke up. _It must be about ten by now. _I think, just as the hovercraft starts to descend. By the time we land, I come to the conclusion that I must have fallen asleep at some point. _Oh well, at least I'll be well rested_. I stand up and try to stretch and rub some of the stiffness out of my muscles.

I follow Fahran down into the launch area down a long corridor until we reach the door marked District 10 F. "Couldn't even bother with my name." I mutter. Fahran gives me a dirty look. "Look, just because I'm here doesn't mean I have to like it!" I snap. Whatever princess act I may have had is gone as I steel my nerves for the arena. _This is gonna be one hell of a fight._ I think grimly.

Some guy brings us my outfit. When I ask him for a glass of water, he brings that too. I slip into my outfit, shunning any help Fahran might have been willing to give me. I gulp down the water, then ask Fahran to have someone bring me another. I don't know if it's fear or the fact that I haven't drank anything since my impromptu breakfast hours ago, but my throat and mouth are parched. _No use going into the arena already dehydrated._

The pants are a dark grayish-brown, a hideous color if I ever saw one, and made of a tough material similar to denim. The long-sleeved shirt is of similar color. The boots are black leather, and there's a matching black jacket made of some strange material. Over all, an ugly outfit that just might keep me alive.

As I gulp down my second glass, I hear Fahran clear his throat. I glance at him is surprise. "Yes?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"The pant's are thick and the boots are tough, expect rugged terrain. Also, the jacket reflects heat." He says, not looking at me. "I think you might have a shot." He finally adds grudgingly. I know it's the closest I will get to a 'good luck' from him.

"I almost forgot," He said, pulling something out of his pocket. It's a familiar piece of battered black leather; a match to a previous tribute's. Jonathon's other wrist brace. I buckle it around my right forearm, just like he did. I picture him as he was last night and imagine the tightness of the wrist brace as a comforting hug.

It may have been my imagination, but as I buckle it on, I think I hear Jonathon whisper, "I will protect you; always." An echo of the promise he gave when dad died. _I'll hold you to that._

Just then, a voice comes over an intercom, warning us to prepare for launch. As the tube walls close down around me on my little metal circle, I can't help but relate this to the Bullpen in Hersh's arena. Only this arena is much bigger, much more dangerous, there are many more fighters participating, and the spectators are all over the country yet invisible to my eyes. Yes; this is definitely much, much worse.

As I'm lifted up into the darkness, I steel myself for the biggest fight of my life, and all I can think as I'm shoved into the light is – "_Double tap."_

**Aaaaaaand… Fooled you! No Arena until next week! (Although I might consider updating early if I get 5 genuine reviews!) Yes, I know, the beginning takes forever! But it's so worth it! ;-p**


	10. Chapter 10: Gray

**And now for the return of the painful memories…**

"That was mysterious?" Gorath teases, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey! I'm a Gladiator, not an Actress!" I sniff haughtily.

"_I'm_ aware of that; just make sure the sponsors are too." Gorath says all traces of frivolity gone from his voice.

"I have sponsors?" I ask hopefully.

"You got a few when I gave my personal endorsement; a flood when your score appeared two nights ago, and I'll be expecting another sleepless night of accepting sponsors tonight after your performance." He confirms, giving me a rare smile. The smile makes his face seem warmer somehow, but it doesn't last long.

I smile back, a genuine one this time, and in a rare moment of affection, I feel an overwhelming urge to give Gorath a hug. Like Angus, I'm not sure whether to follow through with it or not; unlike Angus, Gorath doesn't make the decision for me. Instead I just waver on my feet for a moment as my body tries to decide what to do, before sticking out my hand. Gorath takes my dainty hand into his giant one, giving it a gentle shake. It feels awkward. I want to hug him, but I know that even the handshake is borderline too-friendly for him.

"Alright, enough mushy stuff." Gorath says, backing away, "A princess needs her beauty sleep. Order as much food as you can eat, then get some sleep, you're going to need the energy tomorrow."

"Sir! Yes! Sir!" I say, straightening up and giving him a mocking salute. He just rolls his eyes and walks off. I consider it progress that he didn't growl. I know I would have if some little pipsqueak had back-talked me like that.

I do as Gorath ordered. I order as much food as I think I can choke down. It's all hot, and not too unhealthy; stuff that will give me energy. I do order something called a turtle cheese cake and some fried chicken and potatoes, but that's it for the junk food. I only finish about half of everything plus a large slice of the cheesecake before I start to feel bloated.

I strip down, planning to try to sleep even though I'm far too awake for that. I'm detangling myself from the mink dress when I realize that I need to wash off all the makeup. At first, I just plan to scrub it off over the sink, but once I enter the bathroom I decide to take a full shower. _Might as well. It's not like I'm going to have time, or heck, even enough water to bathe in the arena._ I remind myself. I make the shower as scalding as possible and go through countless shampoos and bodywashes. My time in the capitol has made me cleaner than I've ever been in my entire life, but I'm mostly just killing time. _That's not the only thing you'll be killing in a few days._ I can't help but think.

Suddenly the water is too hot, the steam is suffocating, and the shampoo piled on my head weighs a hundred pounds. I wash out the shampoo, frantically trying to claw my way out of the shower. The dryers are too loud and instead of being embraced by air, I feel that the Capitol has violated me. That I have nothing left to hide; nothing that's truly mine.

I don't bother to wrap myself in a towel (_who's going to see me anyway?_)before running into my bedroom. Like the emotional train wreck I've become, I fling myself on the bed and curl into the fetal position, waiting for the tears to come. They don't. I must have waited for over an hour, but no tears, just a yawning hole in the pit of my stomach. _Fear? Sorrow? Anger?_ I try to guess the name of the black emotion that's filling the hole, but I can't.

"You? Afraid?" Someone asks. I look up, terrified that someone saw me curled up on my bed naked.

"Naked is a matter of opinion. Skin is just what we _see_. It's what's inside the skin that matters." The voice says. I still can't see anyone, though I think I recognize the voice. I look around frantically, trying to pinpoint the voice. It seems to be coming out of thin air. I've never believed in ghosts, but then, I never believed I'd be thrown into the Hunger Games.

"I didn't think I'd have to go either. I thought the worst that could happen was dad dying." The voice says. _It's Jonathon_. The moment I realize this, I notice a deep shadow in the corner near the closet. The shadow seems to move, condense into a familiar shape. A shape I've only dreamed of seeing for the past two years. He steps into the light filtered in through the window. He might as well have stepped into a golden spotlight, the way his entire body becomes visible.

"Jonathon-!" I choke, tears springing to my eyes.

"Don't cry Di." Jonathon murmurs softly. He walks over to the bed and crouches down so that his face is level with mine.

"I can't help it!" I cry. He cups my jaw in his hands and wipes the tears away with his thumbs. It's a small gesture, but it gives me the strength to stop crying, to have the dignity I once used as a mask.

"Don't worry. I cried all the time." He murmurs, pulling my head to his chest and wrapping his muscular arms around my small shoulders. _My rock is back_. "I never really left." Jonathon responds.

"I-I t-tried to m-m-move on b-but…" I stammer.

"Shhhh." He shushes, starting to rock me gently. "I know. I would have been offended if you _had_ forgotten me."

"Why are you here?" I ask. It comes out as a croak due to the lump in my throat so I gulp and ask, "I mean, why now? After all this time?"

"Why can't the Capitol have a rule that no more than one person per family can be reaped?" Jonathon counters, "Sometimes things just happen. Life's unexpected that way." It's the same thing he said when I asked why dad had to die. I can almost smell the manure from the field behind the house where we had talked.

"You said I had to stay strong for you and Ian, but you're dead, and Ian, well, I can't help him now, can I?" I cry, tears leaking out onto his tee shirt.

"You can return and help him!" Jonathon says, echoing Justin's parting words.

"But how!?" I whine, pulling back to look him in the eyes.

"You are the strongest girl I know. You can survive! You must survive! For Ian – and for me." Jonathon says. "Honor my memory. Do what I could not. Win! Return home a Victor, and more importantly, a sister!"

The words have an odd effect on me. The dark emotions that were sloshing around in that pit in my stomach are shrinking; no – not shrinking – consolidating, into a small, hard stone. Resolve, cold, unyielding, resolve. _I _WILL_ win!_ I promise myself, _No matter what it takes!_ And for the first time, I actually believe it.

"Yes you will. Now get some sleep." Jonathon says. I crawl under the covers and he kisses me gently on the forehead, just like he used to when I was younger. The kiss must be magic, because all my emotions slip away and I just have time for one final thought before I fall asleep.

_He's happy where he is, so long as his family is safe._

I sit up in alarm. At first I'm disoriented and unsure of what woke me. Then I hear it again, a sharp rap on the door. I find that the comforter, while rumpled, isn't covering me in the slightest. I quickly hop out of bed and run across the room to my closet. I desperately pull on some jeans and a tee shirt at random as the doorknob turns and starts to swing inward. I just manage to snap the jeans shut when a familiar flame-haired pancake face strut in on platform shoes.

"Fahran!" I can't help but sigh.

"Who did you think it was?" He asked testily

"Gorath, wishing me luck, or, god forbid, Verdandi." I admit.

"Well I see you got dressed in a blind panic; and I do mean _blind_." He says, sniffing at my simple choice in clothing.

"Does it matter? I'm going to have to change anyway!" I growl. Obviously Fahran is not a morning person, but his attitude is starting to piss me off.

"Hovercraft leaves in ten minutes. Eat and meet me by the elevator." Fahran snaps, turning heel and walking out stiffly.

I don't dignify his words with a comment, though I have to stop myself from throwing something at him. Good thing too, since the closest thing in reach is the left over cheesecake. Instead, I walk over to the remainder of my feast and have cold leftovers. I wolf down as many grains and carbohydrates as I can, praying for animals and greens in the arena.

I'm noshing on what's left of a wheel of cheese and a plate of buns when I meet Fahran by the elevator. He just gives me an impatient look and strides inside without a word. I polish off three of the four buns by the time we hit the roof. It's actually really pretty up here. I can smell flowers nearby and there's a tinkling sound that reminds me of bells, but it's the fresh breeze that reminds me of the open pastures of District 10.

True to its name, a hovercraft is hovering in the air just above the roof; beneath which, hangs a ladder. Ahead of me, Belinda and Gorath are waiting. I expected Belinda to hug me and say "I'll be watching out for you!" What I didn't expect was Gorath to hug me. He wrapped his arms around me in a gentle. The tightness in his muscles betrays the fact that this hug is forced.

"Weapons prices are through the roof, I can't waste our sponsorship money on one. Food price is down so that won't be a problem. No changes in medicine price either; still, get what supplies you can." He whispers softly. So softly that only I would be able to hear him.

Gorath pulls back and holds me at arm's length, his eyes showing nothing more than mild concern. "You got that princess?" He asks solemnly.

"I'll do my best, but there're twenty three other kids as well." I say, forcing a lump to appear in my throat. He gives me a half smile. Anyone who overheard us would just think he'd told me to try to win, not give me vital gift information.

I wave goodbye to Gorath and Belinda before grabbing the handles on the ladder. The second my hand touches the rung, an electric current freezes me in place. I'm slowly pulled up into the hovercraft like a fish on a hook. The simile is more apt than I thought because a lady comes over and sticks me with a needle to inject one of those fancy trackers that ranchers at home use on livestock. _How appropriate._ I think sourly as I'm finally freed of the ladder.

I sit next to Fahran the entire way; both of us ignore each other so I spend the time pondering what Gorath told me. _Maybe he was trying to warn me not only would I be responsible for my own weapon, there may not _be _many weapons available._ I'm almost certain that's what he was trying to suggest; the real question is – what does that mean for the bloodbath? _Medical supplies is normal._ With my amount of sponsors, that translates to "Not a problem." _Food is cheaper… hmm…maybe there won't be much food in the arena? It makes sense of course; the Game makers don't want us to starve. I mean, where's the fun in that?_

By the time I've analyzed, reanalyzed, and settled on the meaning of Gorath's parting words, the windows have blackened. I glance up in surprise as I realize that my muscles are sore. I check the time and find that hours have passed since I woke up. _It must be about ten by now. _I think, just as the hovercraft starts to descend. By the time we land, I come to the conclusion that I must have fallen asleep at some point. _Oh well, at least I'll be well rested_. I stand up and try to stretch and rub some of the stiffness out of my muscles.

I follow Fahran down into the launch area down a long corridor until we reach the door marked District 10 F. "Couldn't even bother with my name." I mutter. Fahran gives me a dirty look. "Look, just because I'm here doesn't mean I have to like it!" I snap. Whatever princess act I may have had is gone as I steel my nerves for the arena. _This is gonna be one hell of a fight._ I think grimly.

Some guy brings us my outfit. When I ask him for a glass of water, he brings that too. I slip into my outfit, shunning any help Fahran might have been willing to give me. I gulp down the water, then ask Fahran to have someone bring me another. I don't know if it's fear or the fact that I haven't drank anything since my impromptu breakfast hours ago, but my throat and mouth are parched. _No use going into the arena already dehydrated._

The pants are a dark grayish-brown, a hideous color if I ever saw one, and made of a tough material similar to denim. The long-sleeved shirt is of similar color. The boots are black leather, and there's a matching black jacket made of some strange material. Over all, an ugly outfit that just might keep me alive.

As I gulp down my second glass, I hear Fahran clear his throat. I glance at him is surprise. "Yes?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"The pant's are thick and the boots are tough, expect rugged terrain. Also, the jacket reflects heat." He says, not looking at me. "I think you might have a shot." He finally adds grudgingly. I know it's the closest I will get to a 'good luck' from him.

"I almost forgot," He said, pulling something out of his pocket. It's a familiar piece of battered black leather; a match to a previous tribute's. Jonathon's other wrist brace. I buckle it around my right forearm, just like he did. I picture him as he was last night and imagine the tightness of the wrist brace as a comforting hug.

It may have been my imagination, but as I buckle it on, I think I hear Jonathon whisper, "I will protect you; always." An echo of the promise he gave when dad died. _I'll hold you to that._

Just then, a voice comes over an intercom, warning us to prepare for launch. As the tube walls close down around me on my little metal circle, I can't help but relate this to the Bullpen in Hersh's arena. Only this arena is much bigger, much more dangerous, there are many more fighters participating, and the spectators are all over the country yet invisible to my eyes. Yes; this is definitely much, much worse.

As I'm lifted up into the darkness, I steel myself for the biggest fight of my life, and all I can think as I'm shoved into the light is – "_Double tap."_

**Aaaaaaand… Fooled you! No Arena until next week! (Although I might consider updating early if I get 5 genuine reviews!) Yes, I know, the beginning takes forever! But it's so worth it! ;-p**


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